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No.  LXXXVII. 
FRENCH'S  STANDARD     DRAMA 


ROB   ROY   MAC  GREG  OR 

OR, 

"AULD    LANG    SYNE." 

^u   Operatic   J3lati, 

I     N      T    H     R    E     E      A    C    T    S. 
BY    I.    POCOCK. 


•Tor  why  1     Because  the  good  old  rule 
Sufliceth  them;  the  simple  plan 
Thi'.  they  should  tnke  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can." 

yVordfUrortfi. 


NEW     Y  0  R  IC  • 

S  A  M  U  E  L     FRENCH. 

\29.  Nassap  SiuKP?,  CUj    Stafi's.) 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Covcnt  Garden, 


Sir  Frederick  Vernon  . 
Kashleigh  Oahn'distone 
Francis  Osbaldislone  . 
Mr.  Owen  .... 
Captain  Thornton  .  . 
Major  Galbrailh  .  . 
Rob  Roij  Margregor  ) 
Ca7npheU     .  -S 

Bailie  Nicoi  Jarvie  . 

Douffal. 

MacStuarl 

Allan 

MacVittie    ..... 
Lancie  Wingfield  .     . 

Jobsoji 

Saunders  Wi/lie  .     .     . 
Andrew  Fairservice     . 


\i^\^. 

Kgerton. 

Abhnt 

Sinclair. 

Hlancliard. 

Odiinor. 

Taylor. 

IMacready. 

Li.sion. 

Tokely. 

Coiner. 

Norris. 

Atkins. 

Heath. 

Simmons. 

Pcnri. 

Treby. 


Covenr.  Garden, 
1S18. 

Willie Mr.  Goo<hvla 

Serjeant  ....         .       '■     Grant. 

Corporal "     Rynll. 

Hamish "     Suiion 

Robert Master  Paisloo 

Highlanders.  Travelers,  Lennox  Troop 
ers,  English  Soldiers,  4'c. 

Diana  Vernon      .     .    .  Miss  Siepheng. 

Martha '■     Gieeji. 

Mattie      .     .         ...  Mrs.  Sterling. 

Jean  Mc Alpine   .    .    .  Mi^s  Losan. 

Hostess Mrs.  Coaies, 

Kntty "     Bishop 

Helen  Macgregor      .    .       "    Egertoti. 


T'ime  in  Representation — Tivo  Hours  and  Fifteen  Minutes. 

C  O  STUM E  S . 

SIR  FREDERICK.— -Pirsi  dress:  Dark  shape  and  brea.stplate,  ringlet 

wig,  and  boots.     Second  dress  :  Riding  cloak,  square-cut  coat,  shnri 

sleeves,   large  cuffs  showin.g  shirt-sleeves,  and  ruffles,  long  wai.st- 

coat,  flaps  nearly  as  long  as  the  coat  skirt,  trunk  breeches,   boots, 

full  ringlet  wig,  cravat  with  lace  ends,  sword  with  very  broad  belt, 

broad-brimmed  hat  with  flat  feathers,  gauntlets. 

RASHLEIGH,  )  <-,  ,  ,     ^  .        •  .:i  ■        i 

FRANCIS  (  Same  style,  but  varied  in  color. 

JOBSON  4  Pl^'"  dresses  of  the  same  period,  shoes,  and  buckles. 

CAPTAIN  THORNTON.— Red  square  coat  with  lace,  steel  breast- 
plate, broadsword  belt,  sword,  boots,  ribbons  at  shoulders,  hat  and 
feathers,  gauntlets,  and  large  sash  round  waist. 

MAJOR.— Ibid. 

S0LDIRR.S. — Square  red  coats,  long  gaiters. 

MACSTUART.— Full  Highland  military  costume,  red  &green  plaid. 

ROB  ROY. — Fir.^t  dress  :  Full-skirted  dark  coat,  long  waistcoat,  belt, 
trunk  breeches,  boots,  broad-brimmed  felt  hat,  no  feathers,  overcoat. 
Second  dress:  Full  highland  costume,  red  and  black  plaid,  red 
hair,  deer-skin  shoes  and  buckles,  bonnet,  and  eagle  feather. 

DOUGAL. — First  dress:  Grey  plaid  dress.  Second  dress:  Macgre- 
gor tartan. 

HELEN. — Dark  woollen  dress,  Macgregor  p.aid  scarf,  bonnet  and 
leather,  buff  belt,  pistols  and  claymore,  snield,  deer-skin  shoes. 

DIANA. — First  dress:  Plaid  silk  open  dress,  hig:h-heeled  shoes  and 
broad  bows,  short  full  sleeves,  lace  ruffles.  Second  dress :  Black 
silk  hooded  mantilla. 

MATTIE. — Woollen  dress,  grey  stockings,  high-heeled  shoes,  plaid 
lor  wrapper. 

The  Highlanders,  male  and  female,  in  plain  dresses,  without 
ribbons  or  silks. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door; 
S.  E.  Second  Entrance  ;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance  ;  M.  D.  Middle  Door. 
C.  Centre,   R.  C  Right  of  Centre;   L.  C.  Left  of  Centre. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA: 
SANTA  BARBAKA 


ROB   ROY. 


ACT    I. 


Scene  I. —  The  interior  of  a  Village  Inn. — Travellers  prepa- 
ring to  set  forward  on  ilicir  journey ;  Host  and  ITosxEsa 
attendivg  tlicm. 

GLEE. 

Soon  the  sun  will  gae  to  rest, 

Let's  awa'  thegither; 
Company  is  aye  the  best, 

Crossing  o'er  the  heather. 

Tak'  each  lad  his  stirrup-cup, 

His  heart  will  feel  the  lighter, 
Tak'  each  lass  a  wee  bit  sup, 

Her  e'e  will  sparkle  brighter. 

Solo. — Bold  Rob  Roy,  the  Southrons  say, 
Is  now  upon  the  border ; 
Should  he  meet  wi'  us  the  day, 
'Twad  breed  a  sad  disorder. 

Chorus.  . .  Soon  the  sun,  &c. 

Host.  Brawly  sung,  my  maisters,  brawly  sung  !  I  wish  yo 
a'  safe  hame,  for  ye' re  ain  sakes,  an'  a  quick  return  for  mine. 
Here,  wife,  gi'e  our  frien's  theii- stirrup-cup,  while  I  rub  dowa 
the  table. — I  wish  you  a'  gude  e'en,  frien's. 

[^Exeunt  Travello's.,  d  in  f. 
— Odd  !  there  are  twamair  travellers  just  alighting. — Wha'd 
hae  thought  o'  mair  company  at  the  Thistle  an'  Bagpipes  sao 
late  i'  the  day.     But  wha  wi'  Whigs  and  Tories.  Jacobites  an^ 
Kob  Roy,  we  in  the  North  here  drive  a  bonny  trade  o't. 


*  ROB    ROY.  [Act.  I 

Ettfer  (5 AMVBEj.-L^  dressed  H/ce  a  nor th-co7cntri/ grader  ;  and 
Mr.  Owen,  in  a  plain  broivn  suit,  boots,  a  tchip,  &c.,  shoicn 
in  hy  TViLLE,  d  in  f. 

Willie.  Tiavellers  to  O-lasco',  maister. 
Camp.  Ltindlord.  let  us  have  your  best,  and  quickly  too. 
Host.  Troth  will  I,  Sir  :  ye'll  be  for  a  dram,  nae  doubt,  till 
we  can  toss  up  some  ihing  het  for  yer  late  dinner.   \Exit  r  1  e. 
\Owen  2Jlaccs  a  ^mall  saddle-bag  on  the  table^  and  sinks 
into  a  chair,  evidently  greatly  fatigued. 
Owen.  Oh  !  my  pooi   bones !  tlie  firm  of  my  constitution 
has  been  worse  shaken  than  the  great  house  of  Osbaldistoue 
and  Co.,  Crane  Alley,  London.     (Host  re-enters  and  pla,ccs 
liqiior  and  glasses  on  the  table.)     Young  man,  have  you  sent 
my  message  to  the  Hall,  hard  by  ?     {Cainpbell piours  out,  and 
Owen  drinks^ 

Willie.  Aye,  Sir ;  and  the  lassie  will  sune  be  back  wi'  the 
answer.  [Exit  d.  i?i  f. 

Ca7np,  Weel,  fellow-traveller,  how  does  our  Scotch  whisky 
agree  with  your  English  stomach  ? 

Owen.  Thank  you,  Sir  ;  thank  you  : — It  cheers  the  body, 
but  it  cannot  raise  the  spirit.  I'm  quite  below  par,  as  we 
Bay  in  the  city. 

Camp.  Try  it  again,  man. 

Owen.  I  hope  Mr.  Francis  Osbaldistone  will  make  haste ; 
— yet  I  have  a  sad  tale  to  tell  him. 

Camp.  Osbaldistone  !  I  know  something  of  that  family, 
Sir,  and  if  there's  anything  I  can  serve  you  in,  you  may  cora- 
mand  me. 

Owen.  You  are  very  kind,  Sir ; — but  it  is  far  beyond  your 
help. 

Camp.  Perhaps  not.  Will  you  trust  me  with  the  matter  ? 
Owen.  Surely  I  will.  Sir. — The  affairs  of  the  great  com- 
mercial and  banking  house  of  Osbaldistone  and  Co..  Crano 
Alley.  London,  are  no  secret  by  this  time. — All  public  as  the 
Gazette. — That  I  should  live  to  see  it  and  to  say  it !  Oh 
dear  ! 

Camp.  Come,  come,  there's  nought  so  bad  but  what  ic 
may  be  mended.  Let's  hear  the  business  that  brings  you  to 
the  Hall. 

Owen.  It's  a  long  account,  Sir  ;  but  I'll  sum  it  up  by  the 
euortest  rules.     You  must  know,  Sir,  ray  name  is  Owen.     T 


SC£NB  I.]  ROB    ROY.  5 

am  head  clerk,  and  junior  partner  of  the  house  of  Oebaldl- 
stone  and  Co.,  Crane  Alley,  London  ;  and  I  am  now  on  my  waj 
to  Glasgow,  to  recover  certain  papers  which  have  been  takcB 
— stolen,  I'm  afraid — in  the  absence  of  the  head  of  the  firm 

Camp.   Stolen!  By  whom? 

Oicen.  By  his  nephew — Mr.  Bashleigh. 

Camp.  Rashleigh  !  I  know — I  remember — the  son  of  Sii 
Ililderbrand,  late  of  the  Hall  here. 

Owen.  The  same,  Sir.  Sir  Hildebrand  and  the  rest  of  hif 
sons  are  taken  up  on  suspicion  of  treasonable  practices.  It's 
an  awful  balance  they  have  to  strike  ! 

Camp.  But  how  happened  it  that  this  son — this  Mr.  Fran- 
cis you  talk  of — was  not  left  in  charge  of  his  father's  affairs, 
rather  than  the  nephew,  Rashleigh  ? 

Owen.  Ah !  Sir,  there  lies  the  mischief  Mr.  Francis 
loathed  the  counting-house  worse  than  I  loath  a  bankruptcy. 
While  his  father  was  making  money,  he  was  making  poetry ; 
and  so  his  father,  Sir,  being  a  stern  man,  said  that  his  nephew 
Rashleigh  should  take  Mr.  Frank's  place;  for  he  would  never 
ask  his  only  child,  a  second  time,  to  be  the  partner  of  his  for- 
tunes and  affections — Oh  dear  ! 

Camp.  Well,  Sir ; — but  what  motive  could  induce  this 
Rashleigh  to  betray  a  trust,  which,  for  his  own  interest,  one 
would  naturally  suppose  he  tvould  be  most  faithful  to  ? 

Owen.  I  suspect,  to  aid  some  political  purpose  ;  whereby, 
at  the  expense  of  honor  and  conscience,  he  expects  to  make 
a  larger  psr-centagc  of  worldly  profit.  He  knew  that  to  shake 
the  house  of  Osbaldistono  and  Co.,  Crane  Alley,  London,  was 
to  alarm  the  Government.  The  cash  he  took  was  no  hurt ; 
but  the  assets — the  assets.  Sir; — however,  I'll  not  give  thera 
up,  for  I  know  Rashleigh  has  come  north. 

Camp,  (aside.)  North,  indeed  !  Umph  !  he's  a  cunning 
chield  that ;  he'll  be  too  cunning  for  himself  at  last,  I  fear. — 
A  false  friend,  Mr.  Owen,  never  yet  served  a  good  cause. 

Owen.  You  say  true,  Sir,  such  people  are  as  variable  as 
the  course  of  exchange.  But  when  we  reach  Glasgow,  Sir, 
perhaps  you  can  assist  my  inquiries. 

Ca??ip.  I — I'll  meet  you  there,  Mr.  Owen.  I  just  recol- 
lect a  small  matter  of  business  that  I  have  to  do  in  this 
neighborhood.-(asz<^e.) — I  must  go  to  the  Hall-— Rashleigh 
has  been  there,  no  doubt ;  and  Sir  Frederick  Vernon  may 
wish  to  speak  with  mc      I'll  meet  you  at  Glasgow,  Mr.  Owen 


6  ROB  KOY.  Act..! 

Oioeyi.  Heaven  help  me  !  I  shall  never  live  to  balance  an 
account  there  without  a  companion  or  guide.  1  was  never 
ten  miles  from  Crane  Alley  before  in  all  my  days. 

Camp.  Pho,  man  !  there  in  nothing  to  fear.  Where  shall 
I  hear  of  you  ? 

Owai.  At  Messrs,  MacVittie  and  MacFin's  in  the  Gallow- 
gate,  Sir.  We  have  another  agent,  one  Mr.  Nicol  Jarvie,  in 
the  Salt-market,  but  I  can't  depend  upon  him. 

Camp.  Fare  ye  weel,  Mr.  Owen — Rashleigh  in  the  north  ! 
then  the  heather  will  soon  be  on  fire,  {aside,  ami  going  up.) 

E^iter  WiLLE,  D.  F. 

Willie.  Here's  the  Squire  to  speak  wi'  ane  Mr.  Owen. 

Enter  Francis  Osbaldistone,  d.  ihy. — after  he  enters^  Cahtp- 
BELL  exits  hastily,  unperceived  by  Idin. 

Fran.   Owen,  my  excellent  kind  friend  ! 

Owen.  0,  Mr.  Frank  !  0,  Mr.  Osbaldistone !  such  news 
{unping  his  fycs].  But  why  did  you  never  answer  our  let- 
ters.— mine  and  your  good  father's  % 

Fran.  Letters  !  I  have  never  yet  received  one.  T  have  writ- 
ten repeatedly,  and  have  been  astonished  at  receiving  no  rC' 
ply. 

Oweyi.  0;  Lord  !  no  letters  !  0,  my  stars  '  no  letters  ! — 
then  they  have  been  intercepted.  How  has  your  poor  father 
been  deceived  !  0,  Mr.  Francis,  what  have  you  not  to  an- 
swer for?  But  that's  past  now — it's  all  over  I 

Fran.  Good  Heaven  ! — my  father,  he  is  ill — dead  1 

Oiven.  No,  no,  not  so  bad  as  that ;  thank  heaven,  his  day- 
book is  still  open,  but  his  affairs  are  in  worse  confusion  than 
my  poor  brain — 0,  dear  ! 

Fran.  Explain  yourself,  I  beseech  you,  and  in  terms  less 
technical. 

Owen.  Well,  well,  the  sum  total  is, — that  your  cousin 
Kashleigh,  taking  advantage  of  my  good  master's  absence  ija 
Holland,  has  absconded  with  papers  of  such  consequence  to 
ourselves  and  the  government,  that  unless  we  can  recover 
them,  or  get  help  from  our  agents  by  a  certain  day.  the  houso 
of  Osbaldistone  and  Co.,  Crane  Alley,  London,  is  in  the  bank- 
rupt list  as  sure  as  the  Gazette  ! 


Scene  I.J  ROB   roy.  7 

Fran.  Gracious  Heaven !  my  folly  and  disobedience  tben 
have  ruined  my  father  !  Tell  me  how  shall  I  redeem  the 
consequence  of  ujy  error  ? 

Oiccn.  Oh,  Mr.  Frank,  you  raise  my  heart  ten  per  cent,  to 
hear  you  talk  in  that  way.  Repair  to  Glasgow,  and  assist  my 
poor  endeavors.  Though  you  understand  littk  I  grieve  to 
say,  of  Debtor  and  Creditor,  you  thoroughly  understand,  I  re- 
joice to  tell  it,  the  great  fundamental  principle  of  all  moral 
acicounting — the  great  Ethic  Kuleof  Three  :  let  A  do  to  13  as 
he  would  have  B  do  to  him,  and  the  product  will  give  the  rule 
of  conduct  required. 

Fran.  It  shall,  it  must  be  so  ; — this  very  hour  I'll  bid 
adieu  to  the  enchantress,  who  still  must  rule  my  destiny,  and 
seek  this  destroyer,  this  traitor.  Rashleigh  !  Set  forward, 
Owen,  instantly  : — by  the  time  you  have  made  the  necessary 
inquiries  at  Glasgow,  I  shall  be  with  you.  Oh,  Dianna ! 
must  we  then  part  1 

Oicoi.  Diana  !  Ah  love, — love  !  I  thought  so  ; — never 
knew  a  man  open  an  account  with  him,  but  his  affairs  got  into 
confusion.  I  never  had  any  dealings  with  him  in  all  my  life. 
It's  more  dangerous,  Mr.  Francis,  than  meddling  with  contra- 
band goods  But  I've  heard  of  the  consignment — to  Miss 
Diana  Yernon,  best  affections  ! — Item,  heart ! — Item,  honor  ! 
— Item — Oh,  Mr.  Francis,  look  at  the  per  contra.— Blank  ! 
— ruin  !   Oh  dear !  \_Exit  r.  1  v. 

Fran.  Yes,  for  a  while  we  must  separate ;  yet  I  cannot 
eease  to  love — cannot  live  without  her. 


SONG. 

[words  by  burns.] 

Air — "  Low  down  in  the  broom." 

O  m)'  love's  like  the  red,  red  rose, 

Thai's  newly  sprung  in  June, 
O  my  love's  like  ihe  melody, 

Thai's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 
As  lair  art  thou,  my  bonny  lass, 

So  deep  in  love  am  I ; 
And  1  will  lov^  thee  still,  my  dear, 

The'  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 


C»  ROB    ROV.  rScBBTB  U. 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 

And  rocks  melt  vvi'  the  sun  ; 
And  I  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 

While  the  sands  o:'  life  shall  run. 
But  fare  thee  weel.  my  only  love, 

And  Tare  ihee  wee!  awhile  ! 
And  1  will  come  again,  my  love, 

Tho'  'twtre  ttn  thousand  mile. 

[Exit.  D.  p. 

Scene  ]I. — The  Library  of  Osbaldistone  Hall. 

Enter  Sir  Frederick  caid  Diana  Vernon,  Martha 
attending.,  r.  1  e. 

Sir  F.  [c  ]  It  is  now  time  we  separate.  Remember, 
Diana,  m}'  instructions.  We  are  surrounded  by  dangers, 
wbicii  will  require  all  your  prudence  to  avert.  'Tis  evident, 
your  cousin  Francis  suspects  tbe  visits  of  a  stranger  to  tbese 
apartments ;  and  though  this  dress,  resembling  that  of  your 
ancestor's  portrait,  has  hitherto  enabled  me  to  impose  on  the 
weak  minds  of  the  domestics,  his  penetration  may  discover 
who  and  what  I  am,  before  the  plans  are  matured  on  which 
my  hopes  of  future  happiness  now  entirely  rest. 

Diana,  [r.]  Kely  on  my  discretion,  Sir — you  may  with 
safety. 

Martha,  [l.,  advancing  ivith  a  cloalci  resembling  that  of  a 
Catholic  Priest.,  and  gives  it  to  Sir  Frederick']  Indeed,  Sir 
Frederick — I  beg  pardon — Father  Vaughan,  I  mean,  your 
reverence  has  nothing  to  fear,  though  you  are  a  Catholic 
and  a  Jacobite.  There  is  not  a  soul  in  the  place,  myself 
excepted,  that  dare  stir  a  foot  towards  this  part  of  the  house 
after  nightfall  ! 

Sir  F.  I  repeat,  it  is  not  from  them  I  fear  detection  ;  the 
character  I  openly  bear,  of  Confessor  to  Miss  Vernon,  is  a 
sufficient  security  ;  but  remember,  Diana,  Francis  Osbaldistone 
and  his  father  are  firm  adherents  of  the  present  government ; 
and  should  he  discover  me  or  the  purpose  which  renders  my 
concealment  in  this  part  of  the  country  necessary,  it  might 
be  fatal  to  the  cause  of  Scotland  and  ourselves. 

Diana.  But  my  cousin  is  a  man  of  honorable  and  affcc 
tiouate  feelings  ,   he  would  never  betray  you,  Sir. 


Act  I.  iiOB  ROY.  9 

Sir  F.  You  mean  Le  would  never  sacrifico  his  love  in  the 
person  of  Diana  Vernon.  Subdue  those  reflections,  my 
child,  for  the  sake  of  your  future  peace  of  mind — annihilate 
them,  while  it  is  yet  in  your  power — think  that  you  are  devo- 
ted to  a  cloister,  or  the  betrothed  bride  of  Rashleigh  Osbaldi- 
gtone. 

Exit,  at  a  tapestry  jiannel,  l.  c. 

Diana.  You  may  leave  me  now,  Martha.  When  my  cous- 
in Francis  comes,  say  I  wish  to  speak  with  him  here.  \Exit 
Martha^  l.]  The  bride  of  llashleigh  !  never,  never  !  any  lot 
rather  than  that — the  convent,  the  jail,  the  grave !  I  must 
act  as  becomes  the  descendant  of  a  noble  ancestry  !  Yet  how 
preferable  is  the  lot  of  those,  whose  birth  and  situation  neither 
renders  them  meanly  dependent,  nor  raises  them  to  the  diffi- 
culties and  dangers  which  too  often  accompany  wealth  and 
grandeur. 

Song  introduced. 
Enter  Martha,  introduchig  Francis  Osbaldistone,  and 

exit,  L.   1   E. 

Fran.  Diana,  you  sent  for  me. 

JDiana.  Yes,  Frank  :  It  was  to  bid  you  farewell.  Suppress 
your  amazement,  while  I  tell  you  that  I  am  acquainted  with 
the  distresses  which  the  treachery  of  Rashleigh  has  brought 
upon  your  father. 

Fran.  How  in  the  name  of  Heaven  !  since  but  within 
these  few  minutes  I  myself  was  informed  % 

Diana.  Ask  me  no  questions.  I  have  it  not  in  my  power 
to  reply  to  them.  Fate  has  involved  me  in  such  a  series  of 
nets  and  entanglements,  that  I  dare  hardly  speak  a  word,  for 
fear  of  consequences.  You  must  meet  and  obviate  the  diffi- 
culties this  blow  has  occasioned. 

Fran.  And  how  is  that  possible? 

Diana.  Everything  is  possible  to  him  who  possesses  cour- 
age and  activity. 

^ran.  What  do  you  advise  ? 

Diana.  Quit  this  place  instantly  and  for  ever  ! 

Fran.    Diana ! 

Diana.  You  have  only  one  friend  to  regret,  and  she  has 
long  been  accustomed  to  sacrifice  her  friendships  and  com- 
forts to  the  welfare  of  others  [turning  round,  sees  Sir  Freder 


10  ROB    ROY  SCKNE  I.] 

ich  at  irie  pannd.,  who  motions  to  Ivcr  angrily.  She  fauliers 
— he  disappears  ] 

Fran.   What  alarms  you  ?   Ha  !  I  thought — 

jyiana.  It  is  nothing,  cothing.  Take  Andrew  the  gardncr 
for  your  guide,  and  repair  instantly  to  Glasgow. 

Fran.  Such  was  my  intention  ;  but  if  Rashleigh  has  really 
formed  the  scheme  of  plundering  his  benefactor  and  disturb- 
ing the  state,  what  prospect  is  there  that  I  can  find  means 
of  frustrating  a  plan  so  deeply  laid? 

Diana.  Stay — (Yes,  I  will  insist  upon  it).  Do  not  leave 
this  room  till  I  return.  [Fxit  r.  1  e. 

Fran.  She  has  then  a  confederate,  a  friend — perhaps  a 
lover !  Every  thing  confirms  it — the  light  from  these  windows, 
which  I  have  seen  at  unusual  times — the  footsteps  which  1 
have  traced  in  the  morning's  dew,  from  the  private  entrance 
to  the  apartment  beneath  this  library — the  report  too  of  ap- 
paritions ;  a  thousand  circumstances  tend  to  confirm  my 
suspicions.     But  she  comes. 

Re-oiter  Diana  Vernon,  with  a  packet,  r.  I  e 

Diana.  Frank,  I  trust  you  with  this  proof  of  ray  friendship, 
because  I  have  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  your  honor.  If 
I  understand  the  nature  of  this  business  rightly,  the  funds 
in  Hashleigh's  possession  must  be  recovered  by  a  certain  day  ; 
take  this  packet,  but  do  not  open  it  till  all  other  meani^  fail. 
Ten  days  before  the  bills  are  due,  you  are  at  liberty  to  break 
the  seal. 

Fran.  It  has  no  superscription. 

Diana.  If  you  are  compelled  to  open  it,  you  will  find  di- 
rections inclosed. 

Fran.  And  now,  Diana,  after  the  mysterious,  but  kind  inter- 
est you  have  sho  ivn  to  my  worldly  cares,  relieve  my  heart,  by 
explaining — 

Diana.  I  can  explain  nothing.  Oh,  Frank  !  we  are  now 
to  part,  perhaps  never  to  meet  more ;  do  not,  then,  make  my 
mysterious  miseries  embitter  the  last  moments  we  may  pass 
together.  In  the  world,  away  from  me,  you  may  find  a  being 
less  encumbered  by  unhappy  appearances,  less  ir.fl'.ienced  by 
evil  fortunes,  and  evil  times. 

Fra7i.  Never,  never  !  the  world  can  afford  me  nothing  to 
repay  the  loss  of  her  I  must  leave  behind  me. 


(9cx2(B  III.  ROB  s.or.  1 1 

DIET. 

Air — "  Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch. 

Diana.  J  rx,,    A  you )   ,  (   me  )  _ 

Fran.    \  T'^"  \l     \  }^^''^   \  thee  \  "°^  '"  '°"<^^' 

Smiles  may  light  our  loves  to-morrow. 

Doom'd  to  pan!  my  faithful  heart, 

A  gleam  of  joy  from  Hope  shall  borrow. 

Ah  !  ne'er  forget  when  friends  are  near, 

This  heart  alone  is  thine,  \  l^l"  ^^^''• 
'  \  Diana. 

Thou  mgy'st  find  those  will  love  thee  dear, 

But  not  a  love  like  mine,  \  ^."^■^'^r> 
'  \  Diana. 

Tho'  you  leave,  &c. 
Exeunt  Dimia,  r.  F>ancis.  i. 


Scene  III. — A  Room  in  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie's  House  at 
Glasgoiv. 

Enter  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie  aiul  Saundeus  "VVylie,  l. 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !  I  tell  ye,  Saunders,  ye're  daft — 
ye're  mad  !  Osbaldistone  and  Co.  in  danger  !  It's  no'  possi- 
ble. 

Wylie.  It's  very  true,  Bailie  ;  and  I  thought  it  but  right 
to  let  ycu,  my  auld  maister,  ken  o't. 

Bailie..  Troth,  Saunders,  ye've  stunned  me  wi'  the  evil  com- 
munication. Osbaldistone  and  Co.  fail ! — Stop !  My  con- 
science ! — Mattie  !     (^calling  off.) 

Wylie.  Maister  Owen,  the  head  clerk,  and  junior  partner, 
has  been  at  our  house  wi'  the  news,  an'  begging  for  time  to 
tak'  up  the  bills. 

Bailie.  Owen !  I  remember — he's  a  man  o'  figures — 
a  man  o'  calculation  ;  an'  if  he  talks  o'  ruiU;  by  my  saul, 
it's  no  far  aff ! — But  what  for  did  he  no  ca'  upon  Nicol  Jarvie  ? 
I'm  a  merchant,  an'  a  magistrate,  as  weel  as  MacVitte  ;  but 
he  thinks  nac  mair  o'  me,  I  reckon,  than  o'  an  auld  Scotch 
pedlar. — Mattie  !  Maltie  !  Mattie  ! 

Enter  Mattie,  r 

-Tell  the  clerk  to  brine;  the  ledger. 


12  ROB  ROY.  Act  1. 

Mattie.  The  clerk !  Lord,  Bailie !  lie's  safe  iu  lis  bed 
these  twa  hours. 

Bailie  A-bed,  the  lazy  blackguard  !  Then  fetch  it  yoursel, 
Mattie. 

Mattie.  I'se  do  your  bidding,  Bailie.  [Exit  r.. 

Bailie.  My  conscience  1  I  havena  had  sican  a  shock,  since 
my  worthy  faither,  the  Deacon,  (peace  be  wi'  him)  left  lae  to 
fetch  my  way  alane  in  this  wicked  warld.  But  what  says 
MacVittie  ?     Will  he  grant  the  time  ? 

Wylic.  No  a  day,  Mr.  Jarvie  ; — no  an  hour.  Things  look 
sae  bad,  I  fear  my  employers  mean  to  resort  to  the  severest 
measures.  I  heard  them  talk  o'  arresting  Maister  Owen  ' 
BO  you  had  best  look  to  yoursel. 

Enter  Mattie  with  the  ledger^  r. 

Bailie.  Look  to  mysel !  let  me  look  at  the  ledger  first 
(j)utting  on  his  spectacles.^  and  opening  it  eagerly. )  L — M 
isf — 0 — Os — Osbal — as  I'm  a  Bailie,  the  balance  maun  be 
enormous — but  I  havena  the  heart  to  run  it  up  now  {i-cturning 
tlieledger  to  Mattie).  How  muckle  is  MacVittie  in  wi'  him, 
Saunders  ? 

Wylie.  I  canna  justly  say,  Bailie  ;  but  some  hundreds. 

Bailie.  Hundreds  !  only  hundreds  !  Damn  their  supple 
snouts  !  And  would  they  press  a  fa'ing  man  for  the  sake  o' 
hundreds, — they  that  hae  made  thousands  by  him  ?  Your 
maisters,  Saunders  Wylic,  hae  ta'en  mony  a  gude  fat  job  frao 
between  my  teeth ;  but  I'll  snap  them  this  turn — I'll  snap 
them  this  turn  ! 

Wylie.  I  wish  you  could.  Bailie — I  wish  you  could.  Ah  ! 
I  made  a  sair  change  when  I  left  you  to  serve  twa  sic  iulei- 
nal — 

Bailie.  Whisht !  Saunders,  whisht !  while  you  eat  their 
bread,  dinna  abuse  the  danin'd  scoundrels  ahint  their  backs. 

Wylie.  Ye've  a  kind  heart,  Mr.  Jarvie,  and  an  honest  aue 
too, 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !  so  had  my  worthy  faither  the  Dea- 
con, Saunders  : — rest  and  bless  him  ! 

Wylie.  AVad  ye  be  pleased  to  consult  on  this  business  wi' 
our  partners,  Sir  ? 

Bailie.  No  ;  I'll  see  them  baith  damn'd  first. — My  con- 
Bcieuce  ! — that  is,  a  man  that  meddles  wi'  pitch  is  sure  to  be 
defiled.     I'd  sooner  baud  a  piirley  wi'  Auld  Clootie  ! — Na, 


S(  II."  ROB    ROY.  13 

na ;  ISicol  Jarvie  has  a  way  o'  his  ain  to  manage  this  mat- 
ter.— Gang  your  ways,  Mattie,  wi'  that  huge  memorial  o'  mis- 
fortunes, and  bring  my  walking  gear,  an' the  lantern.  [Exit 
Mattie,  v..) — As  for  you,  Saunders,  speed  ye  hame  again,  an' 
no  a  word  that  yc  hac  seen  me  !  (Exit  Wijlie^  l.) — Osbal- 
distone  and  Co.  stop  !  My  conscience  ! — I'd  sooner  hae 
dreamed  o'  the  downfa'  o'  the  Bank  of  Lunnon  ! — Why  it'g 
LMiough  to  gar  the  very  hair  o'  my  wig  rise,  an'  stand  on  end  ! 
— But  the  distress  cannot  be  permanent.  At  ony  rate  I'se 
prove  mysel  a  friend,  and  if  the  house  regains  its  credit,  I 
sliall  recover  my  loss, — and  if  no,  why  I  hae  done  as  I  would 
Ijc  done  by.  like  my  worthy  faither  the  Deacon,  gude  man ! 
— blessing  on  his  memory,  say  I,  that  taught  me  gude-will 
towards  my  fellow-creatures  ! 

Enter  Mattie,  r.,  decked  enit  for  icalkhig — her  apron  pinned 
vp,  ^'c.  and  hearing  tlicBailie's  tartan  cloak^  hat^  lantern^  SfC. 

Mattie.  I've  brought  your  gear,  Sir  ;  but,  gude  safe  us  ! 
whar  wad  3'e  be  ganging  to,  at  such  a  time  0'  night  ?  (she 
lidps  him  on  ivith  his  dress.) 

Bailie.  Ye'U  sune  ken  that,  Mattie,  for  ye  maun  e'en  tramp 
alang  v/i'  me. — I  wadna  like  to  be  breaking  my  shins  in  the 
dark  just  now ;  for,  truth  to  speak,  I  had  never  mair  occasion 
to  stand  firm  on  my  legs,  baith  at  hame  and  abroad. — Now 
gie  us  the  beaver,  lassie. 

Mattie.  Weel  !  to  think  0'  putting  on  claithes  when  ye 
suld  be  taking  'em  afF,  an'  scampering  abroad,  when  ye  suld 
be  ganging  to  your  bed  ! 

Bailie.  Time  and  tide  wait  for  nae  man,  Mattie, 

Mattie.  But  whar  are  ye  ganging  to.  Bailie  % 

Bailie.  To  moay  places  that  I'd  as  lief  bide  away  frae. 

Mattie.  Now  wrap  this  'kerchief  abo\it  your  thrapple.  (ties 
a  Handkerchief  round  his  neck.) 

Bailie.  Ye're  a  kind-hearted  lassie,  Mattie. 

Mattie.  There — leave  a  wee  bit  room  for  your  mou'. 

Bailie,  (aside)  I  wonder  what  she's  gaun  to  dae  wi'  my 
mou'.   (^stroking  his  chin.) 

Mattie.  (giving  him  a  flask)  Ye  maun  needs  hae  a  drap 
0'  the  cordial  your  faither,  the  Deacon,  was  sac  fond  0' ; — he 
aye  liked  to  sip  the  cordial. 

Bailie.  Rest  and  bless  him  !  sae  he  did ;  and  sac  do  I  too, 
Mattie.   (drinks)     You're  a  gude-tempered  saul,  Mattie,  and 


14 


HOB     ROY.  [A«    i. 


a  bonnie  lass  too.  Ye're  come  o'  gude  kith  and  k:n,  Mattie 
— the  Laird  o'  Limmerfield's  cousin — only  seven  times  re- 
moved. (^Mattie  is  moving  atcay  the  bottle)  Stay — you  may 
bring  the  bottle  wi'  you,  Mattie,  and  tuck  yoursel'  under  my  arm 
— there's  nae  disgrace  in  a  Bailie  walking  hand  in  arm  wi'  ane 
o'  gentle  bluid — Sae,  come  your  ways,  Mattie. — Osbaldistone 
and  Co. — Stop  !  My  conscience  !  \^Exeunt  l. 

SCENE  V^.—  The  old  Bridge  of  Glasgow. 
Enter  Fran.  Osbaldistone  a?zc^  Andrew  Fairservice,  l  u.e, 

And.  {clrunlc)  Weel,  Sir,  thanks  to  the  gude  guidance  o 
Andrew,  here  ye  are  in  Glasgow,  spite  o'  the  bogles  and  bad 
ways. 

Fran.  Was  it  the  bogles,  or  the  brandy,  that  made  you 
ride  at  such  an  infernal  pace  ?  You  are  half  drunk — 
you  scoundrel — But  get  you  gone  : — see  the  horses  taken  care 
of,  and  order  something  for  my  supper ;  while  it's  prepa- 
ring I  shall  walk  here  upon  the  bridge. 

Campbell,  muffied  in  a  cloak.,  appears  at  the  hack.,  hut  seeing 
Andrew.,  retires. 

And.  A  walk  by  moonlight  after  a  lang  ride,  is  but  cauld 
^omfort  for  aching  banes  ;  but  your  honor  kens  best.  He's 
crack-brained,  and  cockle-headed,  wi'  his  poetry  nonsense  : 
/le'd  sooner  by  half,  chatter  to  Miss  Vernon,  than  hear  a 
word  o'  sense  from  a  sober  steady  chield  like  mysel'.  (^aside.) 

[Exit.    L.U.E. 

Fran.  'Tis  now  too  late  to  learn  tidings  of  poor  Owen,  or 
inquire  the  residence  of  my  father's  agents.  Bitter  reflection  ! 
All  this  I  might  have  prevented  by  a  trifling  sacrifice  of  the 
foolish  pride  and  indolence  which  recoiled  from  sharing  the 
^bors  of  his  honorable  profession. 

Enter  Campbell,  r.  u.  e. 

Camp,  (c.)   Mr.  Osbaldistone,  you  are  in  danger. 
Fran,  (lc.)   From  whom?  {starting.) 
Camp.  Follow  me,  and  you  shall  know. 
Fran.  I  must  first  know  your  name  and  purpose. 
Camp.  I  am  a  man,  and  my  purpose  is  friendly. 
Fran.   That  is  too  brief  a  descri_ption. 
Camp.  It  will  serve  for  him  who  has  no  other  to  give.     He 
that  is  without  a  name,  without  friends,  without  coin,  and 


AcBN-E   IV,  J  ROB    ROY.  !5 

without  country,  is  at  least  a  man  ;  and  he  thai  has  all  these, 
is  no  more.  Follow  me,  or  remain  without  the  information 
which  I  wish  to  afford  you. 

Fran.   Can  you  not  give  it  me  here  ? 

Camp.  No ;  you  must  receive  it  from  your  own  eyes,  not 
from  my  aiouth.     What  is  it  you  fear  ? 

Fran.  I  fear  nothing  ; — walk  on,  I  attend  you. 

Camp.  Yet  if  you  knew  who  was  by  your  side,  you  might 
feel  a  tremor. 

Fra?i.  The  spirit  of  Kashleigh  seems  to  hover  round  me; 
— yet  'tis  neither  his  form  nor  voice,   (aside.) 

CamjJ.  Would  you  not  fear  the  consequences  of  being 
found  with  him  whose  very  name,  whispered  in  this  lonely 
street,  would  make  the  stones  themselves  rise  up  to  appre- 
hend him  ? — on  whose  head  the  men  of  Glasgow  would  build 
their  fortunes,  as  on  a  found  treasure  ! — the  sound  of  whose 
downfall  were  as  welcome  at  the  Cross  of  Edinburgh,  as  the 
news  of  a  battle  fought  and  won  ! 

Fran.  Who  are  you  then,  whose  name  should  create  such 
terror  ? 

Camj).  No  enemy  of  yours,  since  I  am  conveying  you  to  a 
place,  where,  if  I  myself  were  recognized  and  identified,  iron 
to  the  heels,  and  hemp  to  the  throat,  would  be  my  brief 
dooming. 

Fra)L  You  have  said  either  too  much  or  too  little,  to  in- 
duce me  to  confide  in  you.  ( Camjjbell  makes  a  step  towards 
him  ;  lie  draics  back  and  lays  Ids  hand  on  his  sicord. ) 

Cam]}.  What  !  on  an  unarmed  man,  and  your  friend  ? 

Fran.  I  am  yet  ignorant  if  you  are  either  one  or  the  other. 

Camp.  ^Vell,  I  respect  him  whose  hand  can  keep  his  head 
— I  love  a  free  young  blood,  that  knows  no  protection  but 
the  cross  of  the  sword  !  I  am  taking  you  to  see  one,  whom 
you  will  be  right  glad  to  see,  and  from  whose  lips  you  will 
learn  the  secret  of  the  danger  in  which  you  stand.  Come  on  I 
Fzit  Campbell.^  Francis  folloiving  cautiously.,  a, 

SCENE  y. — Hall  in  tlw  Tolbooth  of  Glasgow. 
(^Knocking  witlwut.) 

Enter  Douoal,  l  — He  has  a  shock  head  of  red  hair,  ami  an 
extraordinary  appearance ;  a  huge  bundle  of  keys  at 
his  belt^  and  a,  lamp  in  his  hand  ;  listens  and  speaks. 

Doug,  (r  )  Fat's  tat? 


/6  ROB    ROY.  fAcTl 

Camp,  {tvitJiout)  Gregaracb  !  {I)migal  runs  out  in  kaste^ 
and  re-enters  joyfully^  hriiiging  on  Campbell  and  Francis 
OsBALDiSTONE,  R. I.E.     Dougal,  jou  havc  not  forgotten  me? 

Doug.  Och.  te'il  a  pit  !  te'il  a  pit !  wbar'll  she  gang  ?  fat 
will  she  do  for  you?   Oigh,  it's  lang  sin  she  wudna  saa't  ye. 

Fran.  She  !  site  seen  him  !  It  is  then  a  female  to  whom 
I  am  conducted  ?  or  is  it  merely  the  dialect  of  his  country, 
in  which  that  animal  expresses  himself?  (as  lie  says  this  apart., 
Campbell  speaks  to  Dougal  and  points  to  him. ) 

Doug.  To  be  sure  she  wuU,  wi'  aw  her  heart,  wi  aw  her 
soul !  But  fat  wull  cum  o'  ye,  if  the  Bailies  should  cum,  or 
the  eaptian  should  wakens  ? 

Camp.  Fear  nothing,  Dougal ;  your  hands  shall  never 
di'aw  a  bolt  upon  me. 

Doug.  Och,  te'il  a  pit !  te'il  a  pit !  She  would  back  am 
bait  aff  at  elbuck  first. 

Camp.  Then,  dispatch. 

Dm(g.  Wi'  aw  my  heart,  wi'  aw  my  soul  !  {lie  trims  his 
lamp.,  and  beckons  Francis,  ivho  perceiving  Campbell  does  not 
follow,  p)auses. ) 

Fran.  Do  you  not  go  with  us  ? 

Camp.  It  is  unnecessary  ;  my  company  might  be  inconve- 
nient. I  had  better  remain,  and  secure  our  retreat.  Lose 
no  time.  \Fxit  r. 

Francis  seems  at  a  loss  ichat  to  do — Dougal  impatient. 

Doug.  Fuith  !  fuitb  !  come  awa,  man.     Droch-coil  ortsa  ! 

\_Exeunt  l. 

SCENE  VI.— tI  Cell  in  tlw  Tolbooth.  A  pallet-bed,  with 
0  WEN  reposing  on  it,  b.  A  small  tableand  chair.  Dougal 
0}}ens  the  door  i?i  fiat,  l.  c,  and  advances,  followed  Inj 
Francis  Osbaldistone. 

Fran,  (l.)  I  cannot  suppose  he  means  to  betray  me  ;  yet 
''tis  strange — 

Doug,   (luxving  looked  toioards  the  bed)    She's  sleepin'. 

Fran.  She  ! — who  ? 

Doug.     Shentleman's  to  spoken  wi' her.   {shaking  Owen.) 

Owen,  (r.)  Ey,  what !  Oh  dear  !  {pops  his  liead,  adorned 
with  ared  night-ca'p.froni  beneath  the  clothes,  just  as  Francis 
has  eagerly  advanced.) 

Fran.  Owen  !   {pausing  in  surprise.) 

Owen.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Dugwell,  or   Hugwell,  or 


ScfcNE.  VI  KOB    ROY.  17 

whatever  your  name  may  be,  if  my  natural  rest  is  to  be  bro* 
ken  in  upon  in  this  manner,  the  sum  total  of  the  amount  is 
this,  I'll  complain  to  the  Lord  Mayor. 

Doug.  Ugh — cha  neil  Sassenach.       [Exit  d.f.l.h, 

Fran.   Owen  ! 

Owen.  Ey  ! — Oh  dear!  have  they  caught  you  too  ?  then 
our  last  hope  fails,  and  the  account  is  closed. 

Fran.  Do  not  be  so  much  alarmed  ;  all  may  not  be  so  bad 
as  you  expect. 

Owen,  (rises  aiul  advances)  0  Mr.  Frank,  we  are  gone  ' 
Osbaldistone  and  Co.,  Crane  Alley,  Loudon,  is  no  longer  a 
firm.  I  think  nothing  of  myself — I  am  a  mere  cipher  ;  but 
you  that  were  your  father's  sum-total,  as  I  may  say. — his 
omnium — that  might  have  been  the  first  man  in  the  first  house 
in  the  first  city,  to  be  shut  up  in  a  nasty  Scotch  jail — a  Hol- 
booth  I  think  they  call  it — Oh  dear  ! 

Fran.  I  am  no  prisoner,  my  good  friend,  though  I  can 
scarcely  account  for  my  being  in  such  a  place  at  such  a  time. 

Owen.  No  prisoner  !  Heaven  be  piraised  ! — But  what  news 
this  will  be  upon  'Change. 

Fran.  Cease  these  lamentations,  and  let  me  know  the  cause 
of  your  being  here. 

Owen,  it's  soon  told,  Mr.  Frank.  "When  I  disclosed  my 
business  to  Messrs.  MacVittie  and  Mc  Fin,  instead  of  instant 
assistance,  they  demanded  instant  security  ;  and,  as  I  am  lia- 
ble, being  a  small  partner  in  our  house,  they  made  oath  that 
I  meditated  departing  this  realm,  and  had  recourse  to  a  sum- 
mary process  of  arrest  and  imprisonment,  which  it  seems  the 
law  here  allows,  and — here  1  am — Oh  dear  I 

Fran.  AVhy  did  you  not  apply  to  our  other  correspondent, 
Mr.  Nicol  Jarvie  ? 

Owen.  What!  the  cross-grained  crab-stick  in  the  Salt-mar- 
ket? 'Twould  have  been  of  no  use.  You  might  as  well  ask 
a  broker  to  give  up  his  per  centage,  as  expect  a  favor  from 
him  without  the  per  contra.  0,  Mr.  Frank  !  this  is  all  your 
doing  !  But  I  beg  your  pardon  for  saying  so  to  you  in  your 
distress. 

Enter  Campbell  aiid  Douga.l,  hastily.,  d.f. 

Doug,  {running  about)  Och  hone  a  rie — 'Och  hone  a  rie  ! 
what'U  she  do  now  ?  It's  my  Lord  Provost,  an'  Bailies,  an' 
Town  Guard  !     Hide  yoursel'  ahint  te  bed.   (to  Campbell.) 


18  ROD    ROY.  [Act.  I. 

Fuiths,  fuiths,  man,  ye  maun  gang,  for  te  Captain  has  opened 
the  wicket. 

Cam]).  Lend  me  your  pistols  : — yet  it's  no  matter,  I  can 
do  without  thera  ;  whatever  you  see,  take  no  heed — do  not 
mix  your  hand  in  another  man's  quari-el.  {To  Fran.) — I 
must  manage  as  I  can.     (Scats  himself  on  the  table.) 

[Exit  DoKgal,  D.F. 

Entei-  Mattie,  foiioivcd  hy  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie,  d.f. 

Bailie,  {looking  hack)  I'll  ca'  when  I  want  ye,  Stanchells. 
— Dougal  shall  make  a'  fast,  or  I'll  make  him  fast,  the  scoun- 
drel !  A  bonnie  thing,  and  beseetniug,  that  I  should  be  kept 
at  the  door  half  an  hour,  knocking  as  hard  to  get  into  jail,  as 
ony  body  el.se  would  be  to  get  out  o'nt ! — How's  this  1  {see- 
ing Campbell  and  Frank.)  Strangers  in  the  Tolbooth  after 
lock-up  hours  !  Keep  the  door  lockit,  you  Dougal  Creature ; 
— I'll  sune  talk  to  these  gentlemen  ;  but  I  maun  first  hae  a 
crack  wi'  an  auld  acquaintance. — Ah  !  Mr.  Owen  !  how's  a' 
wi'  ye,  Mr.  Owen  1 

Owen.  Pretty  well  in  body,  Mr.  Jarvie,  I  thank  you,  but 
sore  afflicted  in  spirit. 

Bailie.  Ay,  ay,  we're  a'  subject  to  downfa's,  Mr.  Owen,  aa 
my  worthy  faither,  the  Deacon — rest  and  bless  him  ! — used  to 
say. — "  Nick,"  said  ho  (ye  maun  ken  his  name  was  Nicol,  as 
well  as  mine  ;  so  the  folks  in  their  daffin  used  to  ca'  us  Young 
Nick  and  Auld  Nick  !)  "  Young  Nick,"  said  he,  "  never  put 
out  your  arm  ony  farther  than  you  can  draw  it  easily  back 
again." 

Oiven.  You  need  not  have  called  these  things  to  my  me- 
mory, in  such  a  situation,  Mr.  Nico!  Jarvie. 

Bailie.  What !  do  you  think  I  cam  out  at  sic  a  time  o' 
night,  to  tell  a  fa'ing  man  of  his  backslidings  ? — My  con- 
science ! — No,  no — that's  no  Bailie  Jarvie's  way,  nor  his  wor- 
thy faither's  the  Deacon — rest  and  bless  him  ! — afore  him.  I 
fiune  discovered  what  lodgings  your  friends  had  provided  you, 
Mr  Owen  ; — but  gie  us  your  list,  man,  and  let  us  see  how 
things  stand  between  us,  while  I  rest  my  shanks.  Mattie 
hauld  the  lantern,  {taking popcrsfrom  Oiven^  and  sitting  at 
the  cornier  of  the  bed.,  Dougal  enters  cantioitsly  at  the  dooT-— 
beckons  Co.mpbeU.,  and  expresses  anxiety  to  get  him  off. ) 

Bailie.  Eh  !  what's  that  ye're  about,  Sir  % 

Dyug.  Oich  !  dit  ye  mak  a  spok  for  me  ? 


SCKWB   VI.  ]  ROB    ROY  19 

Camp.  Saj  nothiug.  {i)i  a  loiv  tone.,  approacJmig  the 
door.) 

Bailie.  Eh  j  look  to  the  door  there,  you  Doug.al  Creature  : 
— let  me  hear  you  lock  it,  and  keep  watch  on  the  outside. — 
{TDougal  retires.,  and  bars  tlic  door,  but  instantly  iindocs  it 
again  ;  and  peeps  on,  expressing  to  Campbell  that  his  retreat 
is  open — Camphell  observing  tins,  simggers  roiind  the  stage 
and  then  scats  himself  on  the  table,  l.c.) — That's  a  deevilish 
queer  chicl',  he  seems  unco  near  his  ain  fireside.  Sit  still, 
Sir,  and  I'll  talk  to  you  by  and  bye. 

Owen.  There,  Sir,  you'll  find  the  balance  in  the  wrong 
column — for  us — but  you'll  please  to  consider — 

Bailie.  There's  nae  time  to  consider,  Mr.  Owen. — It's 
plain  you  owe  me  siller  ; — but  I  canna,  for  the  saul  o'  me, 
see  how  you'll  clear  it  aff  by  snoring  here  in  the  Tolbooth  ! 
Now,  Sir,  if  you'll  pomise  no  to  flee  the  country,  you  shall 
be  at  liberty  in  the  morning. 

Owen.   0,  Sir  !   0,  Mr.  Jarvie ! 

Bailie.  I'm  a  carefu'  man  as  ony  in  the  Sautmarket,  and 
I'm  a  prudent  man,  as  my  worthy  faither  the  deacon,  good 
soul  !  was  before  me  ;  but  rather  than  that  double-faced  dog, 
MacVittie,  shall  keep  an  honest  civil  gentleman  by  the  heels, 
I'se  be  your  bail  mysel' — ( Oioengoes  zq)  to  him  in  rajjtures,  but 
fails  inhis  attemptto  speak.) — There,you've  said  eneugh.  But, 
in  the  name  o'  misrule,  how  got  ye  companions  ? — Gie  me  the 
light,  Mattie.  {he  catches  it  from,  her,  and  holding  it  totvards 
Campbell,  tvho  is  calmly  seated  on  the  table  and  whistles  in  his 
face,  starts  back.']  Ey  !  My  conscience  ! — It's  impossible  ! — 
and  yet  I'm  clean  bambaized. — Why,  you  robber  1  you  cate 
ran  ! — you  cheat-the-gallow's  rogue  !  a 

Oicen,  (r.)  Bless  me  !  It's  my  good  friend,  Mr.Campbell ; 
a  very  honest  man,  Mr.  Jarv — ■ 

Bailie,  (c.)  Honest!  My  conscience  !  You  in  the  Glas- 
gow Tolbooth  ! — What  d'ye  think's  the  value  o'  your  head  ? 

Camp).  Umph  !  why,  fairly  weighed,  and  Dutch  weight — 
one  Provost,  four  Bailies,  a  Town-clerk,  and  sax  Deacons. 

Bailie.  Sax  Deacons  !  Was  there  ever  sic  a  born  devil  ? 
But  tell  owre  your  sins.  Sir  ;  for  if  I  but  say  the  word — 

Camp.  True,  Bailie,  but  you  never  will  say  that  word. 

Bailie.   And  what  for  no.  Sir  1   What  for  no  ? 

Camp).  For  three  sufiicient  reasons.  Bailie  Jarvie  i^^Ffrst^ 
for  auld  langsyne  : 


20  ROB    ROY.  [Act.  L 

Bailie,   (softening)  Ay,  Rab  !   (shakes  his  hand.) 

Camj}.  Secondly,  for  the  good  wife  ayont  the  fire,  that  made 
some  mixture  of  our  bloods — 

Bailie.  Weel,  Rab  1 

Camp.  And  third  and  lastly,  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie — 

Bailie.  Ay,  Rab? 

Camp.  Because,  if  I  saw  any  sign  of  your  betraying  me. 
I'd  plaister  that  wall  with  your  brains,  ere  the  hand  of  man 
could  rescue  you.  {Owen  in  great  consternation  runs  to  tJie 
bed.) 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !  Weel,  weel,  Rab!  it  would  be 
quite  as  unpleasant  for  me  to  hae  my  head  knocked  about,  as 
it  would  be  discreditable  to  string  up  a  kinsman  in  a  hempen 
cravat ;  but  if  it  hadna  been  yoursel',  Rab,  I'd  hae  gripped 
the  best  man  in  the  Highlands. 

Ca)7ip.  You'd  have  tried,  Bailie  Jarvie — you'd  have  tried. 
Bailie. 

Bailie.  Ay,  I  wad  hae  ti'ied.  Bailie  ;  but  wha  the  deevil'a 
this?   (to  Fra?icis.}  Anither  honest  man.  I  reckon. 

Owen.  This,  good  Sir,  is  Mr.  Francis  Osbaldistone. 

Bailie.  0,  I've  heard  o'  this  spark  : — run  away  frae  his 
faither,  in  pure  dislike  to  the  labour  an  honest  man  should 
live  by. — Weel,  Sir,  what  do  you  say  to  your  handywork  ? 

Fran  (r.)  My  dislike  to  the  commercial  profession,  Mr. 
Jarvie,  is  a  feeling  of  which  I  am  the  best,  and  sole  judge. 

Otcen    Oh  dear  ! 

Camj).  (l.)  It's  manfully  spoken  ;  and  I  honor  the  lad  for 
his  contempt  of  weavers  and  spinners,  and  all  such  mechani- 
cal persons — (Oicen goes  to  bed  again.) 

Bailie.  Weavers  and  spinners,  indeed  !  I'm  a  weaver  and 
spinner,  and  wha's  better  ?  Will  a'  your  ancestry  tell  w.har 
Rashleigh  is,  or  a'  your  deep  oaths  and  drawn  dirks  procure 
Mr.  Frank  five  thousand  pounds  to  answer  the  bills,  which  fa' 
due  in  ten  days  ? 

Fran,  Ten  days  !  Is  the  time  so  near  !  I  may  then  have 
recourse — (Draws  out  the  letter,  opens  it,  ami  an  enclosure 
falls  from  the  letter  ; — the  Bailie  catches  it  tip.) 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !   (reads)  for  Rob  Roy  ! 

Fran,  (a.)  Rob  Roy!  {Campbell  instantly  snatclves  tJiB 
letter. ) 

Baltic,  (c.)  Weel.  here's  a  wind  blawn  a  letter  to  its  right 
owner  ;  but,  as  I'm  a  Bailie,  there  were  ten  thousand  chan- 
ces to  ane  against  its  coming  to  hand,   (going  up.) 


I 


S—    <■  VI.  nOB    ROY.  2i 

FrcM.  (c.)  You  are  too  hasty.  Sir  ;  I  was  not  in  this  in- 
stance,  desirous  of  your  interference. 

Camp.  (lc.  )  Make  yourself  easy,  Sir ;  Diana  Vernoft 
has  more  friends  than  you  are  aware  of      {i-eads  to  himself.) 

Fran,  (^aside.)  Is  it  possible?  Is  the  fate  of  a  being  so 
amiable,  involved  in  that  of  a  man  of  such  desperate  fortunes 
and  character? 

Camp,  (after  reading)  So.  Eashleigh  has  sent  these  pa- 
pers to  the  Highlands.  It's  a  hazardous  game  she  has  given 
me  to  play,  but  I'll  not  baulk  her.  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  you 
must  visit  me  in  the  glens  ;  and,  cousin,  if  you  dare  show  him 
the  way — 

Bai'ie.  (c  )  Catch  me  ! 

Camp.  And  eat  a  leg  of  red-deer  venison  with  me — 

Bailie,   (coolly.)  Na,  thank  ye,  Rab. 

Camp.  I'll  pay  you  the  two  hundred  pounds  I  owe  you ; 
and  you  can  leave  Mr.  Owen  the  while,  to  do  the  best  he  can 
in  Glasgow. 

Bailie  Say  nae  mair,  Rab, — say  nae  mair.  I'll  gang  wi' 
you :  but  you  maun  guarantee  me  safe  hame  again  to  the 
Sautmarket. 

Camp.  There's  ray  thumb,  I'll  ne'er  beguile  you. — But  I 
must  be  going. — The  air  of  Glasgow  Tolbooth  is  not  over 
wholesome  for  a  Highlander's  constitution. 

Bai  ie.  Noo,  to  think  that  I  should  be  aiding  and  abetting 
an  escape  frae  justice  !  It'll  be  a  disgrace  to  me  and  mine, 
and  the  memory  o'  my  worthy  faither  the  Deacon, — rest  and 
bless  him  ! — for  ever. 

Camp.  Hout,  tout,  man  !  when  the  dirt's  dry  it  will  rub 
out  again.  Your  faither  could  look  over  a  friend's  faults,  and 
why  not  your  faither's  son  ? 

Bailie.  So  he  could,  Robin  ;  so  he  could  . — he  was  a  gude 
man  the  Deacon.     Ye  mind  him,  Rab,  dinna  ye? 

Ca?}ip.  Troth,  do  I — he  was  a  weaver,  and  wrought  my 
first  pair  of  hose. 

Bailie.  Tak  care  his  son  doesna  weave  your  last  cravat, 
Ye've  a  lang  craig  for  a  gibbet,  Rab — but  whar's  that  Dougal 
creature  ? 

Camp.  If  he  is  the  lad  I  think  him,  he  has  not  waited 
your  thanks  for  his  share  of  this  night's  work. 

Bailie.  What !  gane !  and  left  me  and  Mattie  locked  up 
in  jail  for  a'  night !  I'll  hang  the  Hieland  deevil  as  high  aa 
Haman. 


£i  ROB  ROY.  [Acta- 

Li'vip.  When  you  catch  hira,  Bailie  Jarvie— -when  you 
catch  him.  (^Mattie  tries  the  door  a7id  fi7ids  it  open.)  But 
see — he  knew  an  open  door  would  serve  me  at  a  pine."!.  Come, 
•Bailie,  speak  the  pass-word. 

Bailie.  Stanchells,  let  this  stranger  out — he — he's — 

Camp.  "What? 

Bailie.  He's  a  friend  o'  mine.  My  conscience  !  an'  a  bon- 
ny friend  he  is. 

Camp).  Fare  ye  woel !  Be  early  with  me  at  Aberfoil 

"  Now,  open  your  gates,  and  let  me  go  free, 
I  dareua  stay  longer  in  bonny  Dundee." 

{Exit  C.F.L, 

Bailie.  So  that  Dougal  creature  was  an  agent  o'  Bab's  ! 
I  shouldna  wonder  if  he  has  ane  in  ilka  jail  in  Scotland — • 
{ivhistling  'without.')  Do  ye  hear  the  Hieland  deevils  whist- 
ling, without  ony  regard  for  Sunday  or  Saturday  ?  I  fancy 
they  think  themsel's  on  the  tap  o'  Ben  Lomond  already. 
Weel,  I  hae  done  things,  this  blessed  night,  that  my  worthy 
faither  the  Deacon,  rest  and  bless  him  !  wadna  have  believed. 
— But  ther's  balm  in  Gilead. — {going  to  the  bed-side.)  Mr, 
Owen,  I  hope  to  see  you  at  breakfast  in  the  morning. — (  Oiven 
snores  )     Eh  !  why  the  man's  fast. 

Fran.  And  the  sooner  we  depart,  and  follow  his  example. 
Sir,  the  better  ;  for  it  must  be  near  midnight — 

Bailie.  Midnight  !  Weel.  Mattie  shall  light  ye  hame. — 
{Francis  takes  Mattie  tender  his  arm  ;  tJie  Bailie  gently  dis- 
engages Iter  from  him.) — Nane  o'  your  Lunon  tricks  here, 
my  man  !  Mattie's  a  decent  lassie,  and  come  o'  gude  kith 
and  kin — the  Laird  o'  Limmerfield's  cousin — only  seven  times 
removed.  Now  that  I  look  at  you  again,  my  fine  young  spark, 
I'se  see  ye  hame  mysel'.  [St.  Mungds  clock  strikes  twelve, 
tnter  two  Goalers  jfer  chorus  ) 

FINALE. 

Fran.        Hark  !  hark  !  now  from  St.  Mungo's  tower. 

The  bell  proclaims  the  midnight  hour,  Bome  ! 

Matt.  And  thro'  the  city,  far  and  near, 

From  spire  and  turret  now  I  hear,  Bome  I 


[Scene  VL 


ROB  ROY, 


23 


Both. 

Owen. 
Bail, 


Ere  3  et  the  first  vibration  dies, 
Each  iron  tongue  of  time  replies, 

(snores.)  Augli! 

Hark!  hark!  from  Mister  Owen's  nose, 
A  cadence  deep  !  a  dying  close, 


Augh! 


Owen,     (snores.) 

Fran.  i  Ere  yet,  &c. 

Matt,  tf^      }  Ere  yet  the  first  vibration  dies, 

Bail.  I  His  nasal  organ  quick  replies, 


Bumel 


Bonae  I 


Home  I 


Owen,     (snores.)  Augh !     (wakes,) 

Bless  me  !  ev'ry  way  I  am  undone, 
I  did  not  dream  of  being  here  ; 

But  snug  in  sweet  Crane  Alley,  London, 
And  Stocks  were  up,  and  1,— oh  dear! 


Fran, 

Bail 

Matt 


Owentf- 
Stanch. 


ALL. 

Home,  home,  <  [  must  no  longer  stay 

J  For  soon  will  peep  the  morning  light. 

f  Now     \      '^'  "\    I  haste  \  '=°™'-  ^''™«'  ]  a^rjtyl 
I  \  pray  make  $  <        go,  go       $         '' 

[  Farewell  at  once — at  once  good  night. 
[Retiring  up,  as  drop  descends.- -Owen  gets  into  bed. 


IHD  or  ACT   I. 


24  ROB  ROY.  [Act  II, 


ACT   11. 

Scene  I. — The  College  Gardens  of  Glasgoto  and   View  of 
the  Spire  of  St.  Mungo. 

Enter  Rashleigii  Osbaldistone,  l.u.e.,  and  Jobson  ratlier 
behind  him.,  ivaiting  his  instructions ; — lie  walks  rapidly, 
turn,s  and  pauses. 

Rash.  Galbraith  aucl  MacStuart  are  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Aberfoil.     Good  !     When  did  Captain  Thornton  march  ? 

Joij.      Yesterday  morning,  Sir. 

Rash.  Umph  '  You  are  certain  that  order  for  the  arrest 
of  those  two  persons  I  described  was  given  to  him  ? 

Job.     I  delivered  it  mj'self  into  his  hands,  Sir. 

Rash.  You  committed  Mr.  Owen  to  prison,  you  say : — 
is  he  there  now  ? 

Job.     He  is. 

Rash.  If  my  cousin,  Mr.  Francis  Osbaldistone.  followa 
him  to  Glasgow,  instantly  enforce  the  warrant,  of  which  you 
have  a  duplicate. 

Job.     It  shall  be  done,  you  may  depend  on  it,  Sir. 

Rash.  'Tis  of  importance  to  keep  him  out  of  the  way; — 
that  man  is  a  basilisk  in  my  sight,  and  has  been  an  insur- 
mountable barrier  to  my  dearest  hopes.  Now,  Sir,  a  word  : — 
if  you  breathe  a  syllable  to  any  human  being  of  the  business 
wiiich  the  government  has  entrusted  to  my  direction,  before 
the  blow  is  struck  which  must  counteract  the  intended  rising 
in  the  Highlands,  you  share  the  destiny  of  the  rankest  rebel 
among  them.  As  to  the  papers  which  I  forwarded  to  Mac- 
Gregor,  ere  long  they  shall  be  again  in  my  possession,  and 
himself  in  your  custody.     What  hour  is  it  ? 

Job.     Not  yet  five,  Sir. 

Rash.  'Tis  well :  we  have  time  before  us.  Make  your- 
self ready,  and  be  well  armed.     Leave  me. 

[Exit  JoBSON,  L. 

. — MacGrogor  is  by  this  time  in  the  Highlands.  He  still 
believes  me  faithful  to  the  cause  I  have  hitherto  so  ardently 
encouraged  and  assisted  ;  and  those  papers  (which  I  now 
regret  having  committed  to  his  care)  will  at  least  serve  to  aid 
the  delusion.     Cursed  infatuation  ! — ^jet  I  repine  not,  for  T 


^B^S.  1  ROB    ROY.  25 

have  the  power  to  check  the  gaze  of  cunning,  probe  all  hearts, 
and  watch  the  varying  check,  linked  with  success, it  moulds 
each  other's  weakness  to  my  will  ; — such  it  hath  been,  and 
such  it  shall  be  now  !  Kejected  by  her  I  loved,  scorned  by 
him  I  would  have  served, — they  shall  at  least  find  the  falso 
friend,  and  the  renegade  knows  how  to  resent  such  insulta. 
Ah  !  (ster's  but  instajitly  recovers  himself. ) 

Unter  Francis  Osbaldistone,  r. 

Fran,  (r.c.)   You  are  well  met,  Sir. 

Rash,  (l.c  )  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  [aside)  He's  earlier 
than  I  expected ;  but  Jobson  is  prepared. 

Fran.  I  was  about  to  take  a  long  and  doubtful  journey  in 
^uest  of  you. 

Rash.  You  know  little  of  him  you  sought  then.  I'm 
easily  found  by  my  friends,  and  still  more  easily  by  my  foes  ; 
in  which  am  I  to  class  Mr.  Francis  Osbaldistone  1 

Fran.  In  that  of  your  foes,  Sir — your  mortal  foes,  unless 
you  instantly  do  justice  to  my  father,  by  accounting  for  his 
property. 

Rash.  And  to  whom  am  I,  a  member  of  your  father's 
commercial  establishment,  to  be  compelled  to  give  an  account 
of  my  proceedings  1  Surely,  not  to  a  young  gentleman, 
whose  exquisite  taste  for  literature  would  render  such  dis- 
cussions disgusting  and  unintelligible. 

Fran.  Your  sneer,  Sir,  is  no  answer;  you  must  accompany 
me  to  a  magistrate. 

Rash.  Be  it  so  ; — yet — no, — were  I  inclined  to  do  as  you 
would  have  me,  you  should  soon  feel  which  of  us  had  most 
reason  to  dread  the  presence  of  a  magistrate  ;  but  I  have  no 
wish  to  accelerate  your  fate.  Go,  young  man  ;  amuse  your- 
self in  your  world  of  poetical  imagination,  and  leave  the 
business  of  life  to  those  who  understand,  and  can  conduct  it. 

Fran.  This  tone  of  calm  insolence  shall  not  avail  you, 
Sir  ! — the  name  we  both  bear  never  yet  submitted  to  insult. 

Ro.sh.  Right,  right ! — you  remind  me  that  it  was  dishon- 
ored in  my  person — you  remind  me  also  by  whom.  Think 
you  I  have  forgotten  that  blow, — never  to  be  washed  out,  but 
by  blood  'I  For  the  various  times  you  have  crossed  my  patli, 
and  always  to  my  prejudice — for  the  persevering  folly  with 
which  you  seek  to  traverse  schemes,  the  importance  of  which 
you  neither  know,  nor  are  capable  of  estimating, — you  owe 


•»»  ROB    ROY.  Act.  II 

mc  a  long  account ;  and  fear  not,  there  shall  come  an  early 
day  of  reckoning. 

Fran.  Why  not  the  present  ?  Do  your  schemes  or  your 
safety  require  delay  ? 

Rash.  You  may  trample  on  the  harmless  worm,  but  pause 
ere  you  rouse  the  slumbering  venom  of  the  folded  snake. 

Fran.  I  will  not  be  trifled  with. 

Rash.  I  had  other  views  respecting  you ;  but  enough. 
Receive  now  the  chastisement  of  your  boyish  insolence. 
{tJiey  drato.,  and  at  the  moment  their  sxvords  cross,  Campbeli, 
rusJies  forioard  from  l.,  and  beats  doivn  their  guard.) 

Camp,   (c.)   Hold!  standoff! 

Rash,  (l.)  MacGrregor  ! 

Camp.  By  the  hand  of  my  father  !  the  first  man  that 
strikes,  I'll  cleave  him  to  the  brisket,  (to  Francis.)  Think 
you  to  establish  your  father's  credit  by  cutting  your  kins- 
man's throat?  Or  do  you,  Sir — (to  Rashleigh)  imagine 
men  will  trust  their  lives,  their  fortunes,  and  a  great  political 
interest,  with  one  that  brawls  about  like  a  drunken  Gillie  ? 
Nay,  nay,  never  look  grim,  or  gash  at  me,  man  !  If  you're 
angry,  turn  the  buckle  of  your  belt  behind  you. 

Rash.  You  presume.  Sir,  on  my  present  situation,  or  you 
would  hardly  dare  to  interfere  where  my  honor  is  concerned. 

Camjj.  Presume  I  And  what  for  should  it  be  presuming  % 
Ye  may  be  the  richer  man,  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  as  is  most 
likely,  and  ye  may  be  the  more  learned  man,  which  I  dispute 
not ;  but  you  are  neither  a  better  nor  a  braver  man  than 
myself; — and  it  will  be  news  to  me,  indeed,  when  I  hear  you 
are  half  so  good.  And  dare  too  ?  dare  !  Hout,  tout ! — 
much  daring  there  is  about  it. 

Rash,  [aside.)  What  the  devil  brought  him  here  to  mar 
a  plan  so  well  devised?     I  must  lure  him  to  the  toils. 

Camp.  What  say  you  ? 

Rasli.  My  kinsman  will  acknowledge  he  forced  this  on  me. 
I  m  glad  we  were  interrupted  before  I  chastised  his  insolence 
too  severely.     The  quarrel  was  none  of  my  seeking. 

Camp.  Well,  then,  walk  with  me — I  have  news  for  you. 

Fran.  Pardon  me.  Sir ;  I  will  not  lose  sight  of  him.  till 
hrs  has  done  justice  to  my  father. ' 

Camp).  Would  you  bring  two  on  your  head  instead  of  one  ? 

Fran.  Twenty — rather  than  again  neglect  my  duty. 

Rash.  You  hear  him,  MacGregor  !  Is  it  my  fault  that  ho 
ru.'^bes  on  his  fate  ?      The  warrants  are  out. 


I 


ficKNE  I.  ROB    ROY.  27 

Camp.  Warrants  ! — curses  on  all  such  instruments  !  they 
have  been  the  plague  of  poor  old  Scotland  for  this  hundred 
years — but.  come  on't  what  will,  I'll  never  consent  to  his 
being  hurt  that  stands  up  for  the  father  that  begot  him. 

Rash.  Indeed ! 

Cainp.  My  conscience  will  not  let  me. 

Rash.    Your  conscience.  IMacGregor  ! 

Ca7np.  Yes,  tny  conscience,  Sir  ;  I  have  such  a  thing  about 
me  ;  that,  at  least,  is  one  advantage  which  you  cannot  boast  of. 

Rash.  You  forget  how  long  you  and  1  have  known  each 
other. 

Camp.  If  you  know  what  I  am,  you  know  likewise  what 
usage  made  me  what  I  am  ;  and  whatever  you  may  think,  I 
would  not  change  with  the  proudest  of  the  op.pressors  that 
have  driven  me  to  take  the  heather  bush  for  shelter.  What 
you  are,  and  what  excuse  you  have  for  being  luhat  you  arc, 
lies  between  your  own  heart  and  the  long  day. 

Rash,  (aside.)  Can  MacGregor  suspect  ?  Has  MacVittie 
betrayed  me? 

Camp.  Leave  him.  I  say  ! — you  are  more  in  danger  from 
a  magistrate  than  he  is ;  and  were  your  cause  as  straight  as 
an  arrow,  he'd  find  a  way  to  warp  it.  (Francis  persists  in 
not  leaving  Rasiileigh,  hut  is  xoithheld  hij  Campbell.)  Take 
your  way,  Rashleigh — make  one  pair  of  legs  worth  two  pair 
of  hands.     You  have  done  that  before  now. 

Rash.  Cousin,  you  may  thank  this  gentleman,  if  I  leave 
any  part  of  my  debt  to  you  unpaid  ;  but  I  quit  you  now,  in  the 
hope  that  we  shall  soon  meet  again,  without  the  possibility  of 
interruption.  Exit  l. 

Cainp.  (as  Francis  struggles  to  follow.)  As  I  live  by 
bread,  you  are  as  mad  as  he  !  Would  you  follow  the  wolf  to 
his  den?  (pus/ies  him,  back.)  Come,  come, be  cool — 'tis  to  me 
you  must  look  for  that  you  seek.  Keep  aloof  from  llash- 
leigb,  and  that  pettifogging  justice-clerk,  Jobson  ;  above  all 
from  MacVittie.  Make  the  best  of  your  way  to  Aberfoil. — • 
and,  by  the  word  of  a  MacGregor,  I  will  not  see  you  wronged  ! 
Remember  the  Clachan  of  Aberfoil.  (Campbell  shakes  his 
iiand  with  great  cordiality  ;  then  exit  l.,  Frani^r.) 


28  ROB    KOY.  [ActIL 

Scene  II. — The  Library  at  Osbaldistone  Hall. 

(-4  knocldng heard  without.') 

Enter  Sm  Frederick  Vernon  from  the  panel.,  l.  c,,  with 
haste  and  agitation. 

Sir  F.  I  was  not  njistaken  ; — it  is  at  the  private  door 
(knoc/dj7g  again.)  Martha  !  Martha  !  I  dread  the  purport 
of  this  unexpected  visit ; — yet  what  should  I  fear  ?     Martha ! 

Enter  Martha,  r. 

Martha.  I  come,  I  come.     Bless  me,  I'm  a'  in  a  tremble. 

Sir  F.  Is  Diana  in  the  next  apartment  ? 

Martha.  Yes,  truly,  and  full  o'  wonder  and  apprehension. 

Sir  F  Haste  and  observe  the  appearance  of  this  person. 
Question  but  do  not  admit  him  till  I  know  his  errand. 

l^Exit  Martha,  l. 
Can  it  be  Campbell  1 — Rashleigh  ?  No — perhaps  a  couriet 
from  the  earl  of  Mar.  My  hopes,  my  existence,  hang  upon 
a  thread — either  Scotland  has  her  rights  restored,  or  I  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  life. 

Re-enter  Martha,  tvith  a  letter,  l. 

Well 

Martha.  A  gentleman, — a  cavalier, — a — I  ken  na  what  to 
ca'  him^; — this,  he  said,  would  speak  for  him.  [gives  the  letter., 
which  Sir  Frederick  opens.,  and  reads  with  agitation. )  And 
weel  it  ought,  for  he  had  scarcely  breath  to  say,  "  Deliver 
that,"  when  he  put  spurs  to  his  panting  steed,  and  dashed 
fra«  the  wicket  as  if  he  had  seen  a  warlock  or  a  witch,  in- 
stead o'  a  decent-looking  lassie. 

Sir  F.  Betrayed — ruined — lost !  Desire  my  daughfer  to 
attend  me. 

[^Exit  Martha  r 
0,  villain,  villain  !  I  had  suspicions,  but  little  did  I  expect 
BO  sudden,  so  fatal  a  confirmation  !  This  ill  advised  confi- 
dence in  Bashleigh  has  ruined  all.  To  yield,  or  to  be  taken 
now,  were  but  to  lay  our  heads  upon  the  block.  But  'tis  yet 
too  strong  a  cause  to  be  abandoned  for  the  breath  of  a  trait- 
or's tale.     Promptness  and  decision  often  restore  to  health 


fScENE  II.  ROB    ROY  29 

and  vigor  that  which  despair  woula  leave  hopelessly  to  perish. 
I  must  hasten  instantly  to  the  Highlands, — if  our  friends 
there  are  as  weak  as  some  are  false  : — but  one  course  remains 
—an  immediate  escape  to  France. 

Enter  Diana  Vernon,  r. 

Diafia.  Dear  Sir,  what  means  this  unusual  summons  ? 

Su-  F.  Diana,  our  perils  are  now  at  the  utmost : — you 
must  accompany  and  share  them  with  me. 

Diana.   Willingly. 

Sir  F.  Contemplate  the  dangers  which  surround  us  with 
firmness  and  resolution  ; — rely  on  the  justice  of  Heaven, 
and  the  unshaken  constancy  of  your  own  mind. 

Diana.  I  have  been  taught  endurance,  Sir,  and  will  not 
slirink  from  it  now.  What  I  have  borne  for  your  sake,  I  can 
bear  again.     But  the  cause  ?     Some  political  secret  'I 

Sir  F.  Yes; — which  your  late  rejection  of  Rashleigh  for 
a  husband  has  induced  him  to  betray, — contrary  to  the  oath 
by  which  he  bound  himself.  But  prepare  instantly  for  your 
departure. 

Diana.  Whither  to  go  ? 

Sir  F.  First  to  the  Highland : — I  must  endeavor  to  see 
MacGrcgor  : — you  shall  know  more  when  I  have  made  my 
own  arrangements.  I  will  relieve  the  distresses  of  your 
cousin,  Francis,  if  possible  ;  but  the  solemn  contract  that 
has  bound  me  to  Rashleigh  leaves  the  convent  your  whole 
and  sole  resource,  unless,  indeed,  you  renounce  the  creed  in 
which  you  have  been  educated. 

Diana.  Forsake  the  faith  of  my  gallant  fathers  !  Never — 
I  would  as  soon,  were  I  a  man,  forsake  their  banners  when 
the  tide  of  war  pressed  hardest,  and  turn,  like  a  hireling  re- 
creant, to  join  its  enemies  !  (Sir,  Frederick  clasps  her 
toith  transjjort  to  his  bosom.,  and  exit  d.l.c.)  Yes,  when  the 
gathering  cry  is  heard  upon  the  hills,  there's  not  a  lassie  but 
will  share  her  hero's  danger  ;  and  thus  sing  the  prai««  of  hor 
gallant  Highlandman. 

SONGr. — [words  by  burns.] 

Air — "  White  Cockade." 

A  Highland  lad  my  love  was  born, 
The'  Lowland  laws  he  held  in  scorn, 
But  he  still  was  raiihf'ul  to  his  clan, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 


SC  ROB    ROY.  (ActIL 

Sing  hey  my  braw  John  Highlandman, 
Sing  ho  my  braw  John  Highlandman, 
There's  not  a  lad  in  a'  ihe  clan 
Can  match  wi'  my  braw  Highlandman, 

With  his  bonnet  blue,  and  tartan  plaid, 
And  good  claymore  down  by  his  side. 
The  ladies'  hearts  he  did  trepan, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 
Sing  hey,  &c, 

[Exit  R. 

SiiENE  III. — Interior  of  Jean  MacAIpine^s  Change  House.^ 
in  tlie  Clachan  of  Aberfoul. — Turf  Fire,  ii.u. 

At  an  oah  tabic,  sit  Major  Gtalbraith  and  MAcSxrART. — 
In  one  corner  lies  a  Highlander  asleejy,  his  sword  and  tar- 
get near  him. 

Mac  Stuart.  Eneugh,  eneugh,  Galbraith — I  can  tcuk  my 
pint  of  usquebach,  or  pranty  either,  wi'  ony  man  :  but  we 
have  wark  in  band  just  noo,  and  bad  better  look  to  it. 

Galb.  Hout  tout,  man — meat  and  mass  never  yet  hindered 
wark  ;  had  it  been  my  directing,  instead  of  this  Risb — Kash 
— what  the  deevil  is  the  Saxon's  name  1 

MacStuart.  Haud  your  whist.  Major,  man — baud  your 
whist, — don't  let  the  pranty  be  owre  strong  for  your  prains. 
Do  you  no  see  1   {jpointing  to  the  sleeper.') 

Galb.  I  say  that  the  garrison  and  our  troopers,  with  Cap- 
tain Thornton's  party,  could  have  taken  Rob  Koy,  without 
bringing  you  all  the  way  from  the  Glens  to  Aberfoil  here. 
There's  the  band  that  would  lay  him  flat  upon  the  green,  and 
never  ask  a  Hielander  for  help. 

MacStuart.  Come,  come — 'tis  time  we  were  going. 

Galb.  Going  !  why,  'tis  here  Thornton  was  appointed  to 
meet  us ;  besides,  mind  the  auld  saw, — '•  It's  a  bauld  moon, 
quo'  Bennygask — anither  pint,  quo'  Lesslie ;"  and  we'll  no 
Steer  a  stap  till  we've  drucken  it  neither,   (rises.) 

SONG. 

(words  altered  from  Wordsworth's  poem  of  "  rob  eot'b 

GRAVE.") 

Air—"  Mij  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet." 

A  famous  man  was  Robin  Hood, 
The  English  ballad  singer's  joy; 


But  Scotland  has  a  thief  as  good,- 
She  has— she  has  her  bold  Rob  Roy, 


I 


flCUTB.  Ill  ROB    ROY  SI 

A  dauntless  heart  MacGregor  shows, 

And  wondrous  length  and  strength  of  arm; 

He  long  has  quell'd  his  Highland  Toes, 
And  kept — and  kept  his  friends  from  harm. 
Chorus. — A  famous  man,  &c. 

His  daring  mood  protects  him  still, 

For  this — the  robber's  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  will, 

And  they  should  keep— should  keep  who  cai^. 
And  while  Rob  Roy  is  free  to  rove. 

In  summer's  heat  and  winter's  snow, 
The  eagle  he  is  lord  above, 

And  bold  Rob  Roy  is  lord  below. 

Chorus.— A  famous  man,  &c. 

Jean  MacAlpine  is  heard  ivithout  in  loud  expostulation 
with  Francis  Osbaldistone  and  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie. 
Galbraith  and  MacStuart  look  round  angrily.  The 
Sleeper  raises  his  head^  and  discovers  himself  to  he  Dougal. 
He  secures  his  sword  and  target.,  and  resumes  his  position 
as  tlie  Bailie  and  Francis  enter.,  l.d. 

Jean.  Indeed,  gentlemen,  my  house  is  taen  up  wi'  them 
that  winna  like  to  be  intruded  on. 

Fran.  But,  my  good  woman,  we  are  dying  with  hunger. 

Bailie.  Starving!  Sax  hours  since  I  tasted  a  morsel, 
except  the  rough,  tough  legs  o'  an  auld  moor-cock,  {crosses 
towards  fire.,  n.) 

Jea)i.   You  had  better  gang  far'er  than  fare  waur. 

Bailie.  I've  ither  eggs  upon  the  spit.  I'll  no  steer  a 
Btap,  woman. 

Jean.  Weel,  weel ;  a  wilfu'  man  maun  hae  his  own  way. 
But  I  wash  my  hands  on't. 

Fran.  I  must  make  the  best  apology  I  can  to  your  guests  ; 
»ut  as  they  are  so  few,  I  hope  little  will  be  required  for  add- 
ing two  more  to  their  company. 

Exit  Jean  MacAlpine,  l.  The  Bailie  turns  up  a  inetU- 
tub.,  aiul  seats  himself  very  composedly  near  tJie  fire.  jPran- 
cis  goes  to  seat  himself  near  Galbraith,  xoho  instantly 
throws  his  legs  upon  the  scat. 

Galb.  You  make  yourself  perfectly  at  hame,  Sir. 
Fran,   (c.)   We  usually  do  so,  Sir,  when  we  enter  a  house 
of  public  entertainment. 


32  ROB    ROY.  [Act.  II 

Bailie,  (r.)  Pray,  gentlemt  ii,  dinna  be  angry  ;  we  arc  only 
bits  o'  Glasgow  bodies,  travelling  to  get  in  some  siller  that's 
awing  us. 

MacStuart.  (r.c.)  Did  you  no  saw  by  the  white  wan'  at 
the  door,  that  the  public-hoose  was  occupied. 

Fran.  The  white  wand  !  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand 
the  customs  of  this  country,  but  I  am  yet  to  learn  how  three 
persons  should  be  entitled  to  exclude  all  other  travellers 
from  the  only  place  of  shelter  and  refreshment  for  miles 
round. 

Bailie.  There's  nae  reason  for't,  gentlemen, — we  mean 
nae  offence  ;  and  if  a  stoup  o'  brandy  will  heal  the  quarrel — 

Galb.  Damn  your  brandy  ! 

Bailie.  That's  civil.  It's  my  opinion  ye've  gotten  owre 
muckle  o'  that  already,  if  ane  may  judge  by  ye're  manners. 

MacStuart.  We  want  naither  your  company  nor  your 
pranty. 

Galh.  {mimicking  MacStuart.)  No — we  want  naither 
your  company  nor  your  pranty  ;  and  if  ye  be  pretty  men, 
draw,  {tinslieathes  Ids  sword ;  MacStuart  ajid  Francis  do 
tfie  sajne. ) 

MacStuart.  Aye,  traw. 

Bailie,  {starts  ztjJ.)  Draw  !  I'm  neither  a  pretty  man,  nor 
hae  I  ony  thing  to  draw  ;  but  by  the  soul  o'  my  faither,  the 
Deacon,  I'se  no  tak  a  blow  without  gieing  a  thrust.  {7-zc?is  to 
fhejire,  and  seizes  a  red-hot  poker  )  So  that  he  that  likes  it, 
has  it.  (a5  thej/  make  a  tilt  at  each  othei;  Dougal  starts  up, 
and  darts  between  the  Bailie  and  MacStuart.) 

JDoiig.  (c.)  Her  nainsel'  has  eaten  the  town-pread  o'  Glas- 
go',  an' she'll  feught  for  Nicol  Bailie  Sharvie  at  Aberfoil — 
troth  will  she  !   Och,  neish  ! 

MacStuart.  Haud,  baud — the  quarrel's  no  mortal,  and  the 
gentlemen's  hae  given  raisonable  satiswhaction. 

Bailie.  I'm  glad  to  hear't. 

Galb.  Weel,  weel,  as  the  gentlemen  have  shown  themselves 
men  o  honor 

[Dougal  goes  off,  l.d. 

MacStuart.  Men  o'  honor!  Wha  ta  teevil  ever  saw  men 
o'  honor  feught  wi'  a  fire-prand  before  ?  Figh  !  my  braw 
new  plaidie  smells  like  a  singit  sheep's  head. 

Bailie.  Let  that  be   nae   hindrance   to  gude  fallowship  j 


BcKNE  in  PvOtJ    ROY.  60 

there's  aye  a  plaister  for  a  broken  head.  If  I've  brunt  ye're 
plaidie,  I  can  mend  it  wi'  a  new  ane.     I'm  a  weaver. 

Girlb.  A  weaver !  Pah  !  [retires  iip  tlic  stage,  snapping 
his  fingers  at  him  with  great  contempt.) 

MacStuart.  "W^eel,  Sir,  Uie  neist  time  that  ye'll  fecht,  lat 
it  be  wi  a  soord,  like  a  Christian,  and  no  wi'  a  red-het  poker, 
like  a  wild  Indian  sawage. 

Bailie.  My  conscience  I  a  man  maun  dae  his  best.  I  was 
obliged  to  grip  at  the  first  thing  that  came  in  my  way  ;  and, 
as  I'm  a  Bailie.  I  wadna  desire  a  better. 

Galb.  Come,  come,  let's  drink  and  agree  like  honest  fal- 
lows, (^sheathes  his  sivord.  Francis  aiid  MacStuart  do  the 
same,  and  tJie  Bailie  replaces  tliepoker.) 

Bailie.  Weel,  noo  I  find  there's  nae  hole  in  my  wame,  I'll 
no  be  the  waur  for  putting  something  in  till't.  {scats  himself 
He  and  Galeraith  converse  apart.  Andrew  Fairservice, 
icrh  a  letter  in  his  hatid.,  appears  at  the  door,  terrified  for  fear 
of  intruding.  Francis  beckons  him  forward.  Dougal  ap- 
-pears  at  the  window  loatching.) 

And.  V}n  an  honest  lad,  Sir, — I  wadna  part  wi'  your  honor 
lightly  ; — but,  the — the — the — read  that! 

Fran.  'Tis  from  Campbell !   (^reads.) 

"There  are  hawks  abroad,  and  I  cannot  meet  you  at  Aberfoi],  as 
intended.  The  bearer  is  faithful,  and  may  be  trusted  ;  he  will  guide 
you  !o  a  place  where  we  will  be  safe,  and  free  to  look  after  certain 
affairs,  in  which  I  hope  to  be  your  guidance. 

"  Robert  MacGregor  Campbell." 

Hawks  ! — he  means  the  government  forces.  From  whom  did 
you  receive  this  ? 

And.  Frae  a  Hieland  deevil  wi'  a  redhead — that — that — 
(jperceives  Dougal's  head  at  the  laindow.) 

Fran.  Have  the  horses  saddled,  and  be  ready  at  a  minute's 
notice.  (Dougal,  satisfied  that  the  letter  has  been  read,  dis- 
appears.) 

And.  De'il  be  in  my  feet  if  I  stir  a  tae's  length  far'er ; — 
to  gang  into  Rab  Roy's  country  is  a  mere  tempting  0'  Prov- 
idence. 

Fran.  Wait  without — one  way  or  the  other  I  will  deter- 
mine speedily. 

And.  I  dinna  gie  a  damn  how  ye  determine.  Sir,  but  I 
winna  do't — I'm  no  sic  a  born  idiwut — I'll  no  do't. 

\^Exit  L.D. 


Si  ROB    ROY.  fAcTlL 

Bailie.  Let  Glasgow  flourish !  I'll  hear  nae  language 
oifensive  to  the  Duke  o'  Argyle,  or  the  name  o'  Campbell. 
My  conscience  I  Reiaember  the  het  poker  !  I  say,  he's  a 
credit  to  the  country,  and  a  good  friend  to  our  town  and 
trade. 

Galb.  Ah  !  there'll  be  a  new  warld  soon — we  shall  have  no 
Campbells  cocking  their  bonnets  so  high,  and  protecting 
thieves  and  murderers,  to  harry  and  spoil  better  men,  and 
mair  loyal  clans. 

Bailie.  Sir,  yo  gie  your  tongue  owre  great  a  lieshence  :  ye 
may  be  mair  loyal  clans,  but,  by  my  soul,  ye're  no  better  men  ! 

Galb.  No? 

Bailie.  No  !   {Jight  again.) 

Fran.  Pray,  gentlemen,  do  not  renew  your  quarrel ;  iu  a 
few  moments  we  must  part  company. 

MacSUiart.  AVeel,  weel,  there's  nae  occasion  for  ony  mair 
het  blude.  But  you  must  know.  Sir,  that  we  are  harried  out 
o'  all  patience  here  wi'  meetings  to  put  down  Kob  Roy.  I 
hae  chased  the  MacGregor  myself  ., — have  had  him  at  pay  like 
red-deer  ;  but  still  the  Duke  o'  Argyle  gi'es  him  shelter.  Oh  ! 
it's  enough  to  make  a  man  mad.  I  wad  gi'e  something  to  be 
as  near  him  as  I  hae  been. 

Bailie.  Wud  ye  1   (ironically.) 

MacStvart.  Aye. 

Bailie.  Ye'Il  forgi'e  me.  frien',  for  speaking  my  mind  ; — 
but  it's  my  thought,  you'd  hae  gi'en  the  best  button  on  your 
coat  to  hae  been  as  far  awa'  fra  Rab  Hoy  then  as  you  are 
now.  My  conscience  !  my  het  poker  wae  hae  been  naething 
to  his  claymore. 

MacStuart.  You  tamn'd  weaver  !  One  word  mair  about 
that  whilthy  poker,  by  my  saul.  I'll  mak  you  ait  it,  and  sax 
inches  o'  cauld  steel  into  the  bargain. 

Bailie,  {seizing  the^ioker)   Wull  you,  Sir  ? 

Fran.  Come,  come,  gentlemen,  let  us  all  be  friends  herej 
and  drink  to  all  friends  far  away. 

SONG. 

[words  by  burns.] 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

An'  never  broiifjiu  to  mindl 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

An'  cLay.^  o'  langsyrie  1 


IE>-ENE  in.  ROP   ROY.  35 

For  auld  langsyne,  my  frienas, 

For  auld  langsyne, 
We'll  lak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yetj 

For  auld  langsyne. 

Chorus.'— For  auld  langsyi  e,  Jtc. 

An'  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  friend, 

An'  gie's  a  hand  o'  thine, 
An'  we'll  toom  the  stowp  to  friendship's  growth, 

An'  days  o'  langsyne. 

Chorus.— For  auld  langsyne,  &e. 

An'  surely  you'll  be  your  pint-stowp, 

An'  surely  I'll  be  mine. 
An'  we'll  tak'a  right  gudo  willy- wacht, 
For  auld  langsyne. 

Chorus.— For  auld  langsyne,  &c. 

(.4  drum  heard  <nth(mt.) 

•  Enter  Jean  MacAlpine,  in  alarm,  l.d. 
Jean.  The  red-coats  !   the  red-coats  !  [Exit  a. 

EMer  Captain  Thok.nton.  l.d. 

Capt.  T.  You,  Sir,  I  suppose,  are  Major  Galbraith,  of  the 
isquadron  of  Lennox  Militia  ? — and  these  are  the  Plighland 
gentlemen  whom  I  was  appointed  to  meet  in  this  place  1 

Galb.  You  are  right,  Sir  ;  Captain  Thornton,  I  presume. 
"Will  you  take  any  refreshment  ? 

Capt.  T.  I  thank  you,  none ;  I  am  late,  and  desirous  to 
make  up  time.  I  have  orders  to  search  for  and  arrest  two 
persons  guilty  of  treasonable  practices.  Do  these  gentlemen 
belong  to  your  party  ? 

Bailie.  No,  Sir  ; — we're  travellers,  Sir — lawfu'  travellers 
by  land  and  sea. 

Caj}t.  T.  My  instructions  are,  to  place  under  arrest  an 
elderly  and  a  young  person  ; — you  answer  the  description. 

Bailie.  Me  !  Tak  care  what  ye  say,  Sir — tak  care  what 
ve  say  !  It'll  no  be  your  red-coat,  nor  your  laced  hat,  that'll 
protect  you,  gin  you  put  an  affront  ou  me.  I'll  convene  you 
in  an  action  o'  scandal  and  fause  imprisonment.  I'm  a  free 
burgess,  and  a  magistrate  Nicol  Jarvie  is  my  name — s 
was  my  faither's  afore  me.  I'm  a  i>ailic, — be  praised  for  the 
honor! — and  my  faitber  was  a  Deacon — yes,  Sir,  he  was.Dea« 
con  o'  the  weavers. 


36  ROB    ROY.  ,AcT  II 

Galb.  True  enough;  iiis  faither  was  a  prickear'd  cur  and 
fought  against  the  King  at  Bothwcll-Brig. 

Bailie.  My  faither  paid  what  he  ought,  and  what  ha 
bought,  Major  Galbraith,  since  I  ken  you  are  Major  Gal- 
braith  ;  and  was  an  honester  man  than  ever  stood  upon  your 
clumsy  shanks, — Major  Galbraith. 

Galb.   Clumsy  shanks  !   {looking  at  his  legs.) 

Capt.  T.  I  have  no  time  to  attend  to  all  this.  And  you. 
Sir,  what  may  your  naine  be?   {to  Fran.) 

Fran.   Francis  Osbaldistone. 

Capt.  T.  What !  a  son  of  Sir  Hildebrand  ? 

Bailie.  No,  Sir  ;  a  son  till  a  better  man : — the  great 
William  Osbaldistone,  Crane  Alley,  London,  as  Mr.  Owen 
has  it. 

Cajit.  T.  I  am  afraid.  Sir,  your  name  only  increases  the 
suspicions  against  you,  and  lays  me  under  the  necessity  of 
demanding  your  papers. 

Bailie    {aside)  That's  a  very  modest  request. 

Fran.  I  have  none  to  surrender. 

Capt.  T.  What  is  that  now  in  your  breast? 

Fran.  Oh!  to  this  you  are  welcome  ;  {giving  it.)  yet  it 
may  endanger — I  have  done  wrong,   {aside) 

Bailie.  What  for  did  ye  dae  it  then,  ye  gouk  ? 

Cajjt.  T.  'Tis  confirmed.  Here  I  find  you  in  written 
communication  with  the  outlawed  robber,  MacGregor  Camp- 
bell. 

Galb.  Spies  of  Rob  ! 

MacSttiart.  Strap  'em  up  the  nest  tree. 

Bailie.  Gently,  gently,  kind  gentlemen,  if  you  please  ; — 
there's  nae  hurry. 

Capt.  T.  How  came  you  possessed  of  this  ? 

Fran.  You  will  excuse  my  answering. 

Capt.  T.   Do  you,  Sir,  know  anything  of  this  ? 

Bailie.  By  the  soul  o'  my  faither,  the  Deacon,  no ! 

Caj^t.  T.  Gentlemen,  you  are  waited  for.  {signif.canthj  to 
Galbraith.)  I'll  thank  you  to  order  two  sentinels  to  tlie 
door. 

Exeunt  Galbraith  and  MaoStuart,  l.d. 

'Bailie.  Sentinels  !  sentinels  !     What 

Capit.  T.  I  can  hear  no  remonstrance  : — the   service  1  am 

on  gives  me  no  time  for  idle  discussions.     Come,  Sir 

Bailie.   0.  vera  week  Sir.  vera  week     Yc're  welcome  to  a 


I 


J^SCESKIV.  ROB    ROY.  S7 

tune  on  your  ain  fiddle  ;  but  if  I  dinna  mak  ye  dance  till't 
before  I've  done,  my  name's  no  Nicol  Jarvie  '  Gudo  save 
us  ! — arrest  a  Bailie, — a  free  burgess, — a  magistrate  !  My 
conscience  ! 

[^Exii,foHoioing  C^pt.  Thornton  a7id  Francis,  l.d. 

Scene  IV. —  The  Clachan  of  Aherfoil.  A  few  miserable 
hoking,  loiv  rooj  id  hoveh  in  various  parts  tinder  tJiecraigs, 
■widch  rise  immediately  behind  thev.i^  interspersed  xvith 
hrush-tvoodi  c^-c.  The  bach  of  the  Scene  exhibits  the  distant 
Highland  Country.  Part  of  a  house  consjiicuous  near  tJie 
front  .1  R.  Mac  Stuart  crosses  at  the  top  of  tJie  stage.,  fol- 
lowed by  Major  Galbraith,  tcho  beckons  on  the  Serjeant, 
and  after  giving  him  directions  to  place  Sentinels  before 
the  Inn  door.,  exits  tvith  MacStuart.  TJie  Serjeant  brings 
on  the  Soldiers,  t^'Ao  range  themselves  in  the  back-ground  : 
two  Sentinels  are  j^laced  at  the  front  of  the  Inn. 

Enter  Captain  TuoRNjoi^.frotnihe  Inn,  r.u.e. 

Cajyt.  T.  Serjeant,  make  the  men  fall  in.  (Exit  Serjeant.) 
Come,  my  lads,  get  under  arms.  I  cannot  be  mistaken  : — 
these  strangers  must  be  persons  described  by  Rashleigh 
Osbaldistone.  Yet  his  own  relative,  one  would  think,  might 
have  been  overlooked.  No,  no — he  is  one  that  makes  no  ex- 
ceptions. The  self-interested  wretch,  that  would  have  first 
betrayed  his  country,  and  now  his  dearest  friends,  respects 
no  tie  of  honor,  kindred,  or  affection.  Sentinels,  bring  out 
your  prisoners. 

The  Sentinels  e?iter  the  Inn.  At  the  same  instant  a  noise  is 
lieard  without;  the  Serjeant  aiid  t^vo  men  enter  dragging 
fortcard  Dougal  from  r.u.e.,  folloived  by  the  inJiabitants 
of  the  village,  consisting  of  ivomen  and  children  ;  they  are 
eager  for  the  safety  of  Dougal,  and  ivith  difficulty  suppi'ess 
their  enmity  to  the  Soldiers. 

Doug.   Oigh.  oigh  ! 
Serj.  Bring  him  along. 
People.   Oigh,  oigh  !  poor  Dougal ! 

Capt.  T.  (l.c.)  Cease  this  howling,  and  let  the  man  bo 
heard. 

Doug,   (c.)   Oigh,  oigh  I 

Seri.    (r.o.)   We  caught  tliis  fellow  lurking  behind  the  inn, 


38  ^OB  ROY.  [Act  II, 

Captain ; — he  confesses  to  have  seen  Rob  Roy  within  this 
half  hour. 

Capt.  T.  How  many  men  had  he  with  him,  fellow,  when 
you  parted  1 

Doug.   She  cannot  just  fery  be  sure  about  tat. 

Ccqit.  T.  Your  life  depends  upon  your  answer.  How 
many  rogues  had  that  outlawed  scoundrel  with  him  ? 

Doug.  No  aboon  he  If  so  mony  as  there  wud  pe  here  tho 
noo. 

Capt.  T.  And  what  thieves'  errand  were  you  dispatched 
upon?  ( DouGAL /oo/i-s  about  him.,  as  beset  xoith  doubt  and 
difficulty.)  Speak,  rascal,  instantly  !  I'll  not  give  you  time 
to  hatch  a  lie  : — what  errand  ? 

Doug.  Just  to  see  what  your  honor  and  the  red-coats  wu3 
pc  want  at  Aberfoil. 

Enter  the  Sentinels  from  the  Inn.,  r.,  conducting  Francis 
OsBALDiSTONE  a7id  Bailie  Nxcol  Jarvie,  who  co7ne  down 
to  the  front. 

Bailie,  (rc.)  Mercy  on  us!  they've  gripped  the  puir 
Dougal  creature.  Captain,  I'll  put  in  bail,  sufficient  bail,  for 
thafc  Dougal  creature. 

Capt.  T.  (l.c.)  You  know  him  then — are  interested  for 
his  safety  ? 

Bailie.  Yes,  Sir  ;  he  did  me  a  good  turn  ance  when  I  was 
•jair  beset,  and  I 

Capit.  T.  Mr.  Jarvie,  you  will  please  to  recollect,  that  for 
the  present  you  likewise  arc  a  prisoner  ? 

Bailie.  Me  !  My  conscience  !  Sir,  I  tak  you  to  witness 
the  Captain  refuses  sufficient  bail.  {taLing  one  of  the  '^fmti- 
NELs  by  the  breast.)  The  Dougal  creature  has  a  gude  action 
o'  wraugous  imprisonment,  and  I'se  see  him  righted — -I'se 
«ee  him  righted. 

Capt.  T.  Mr.  Jarvie 

Bailie.  Mr.  Bailie  Jarvie,  gin  ye  please,  Sir. 

Capt.  T.  Well,  then,  Mr.  Bailie  Jarvie,  unless  you  keep 
your  opinions  to  yourself,  I  shall  resort  to  unpleasant  mea- 
sures. 

Bailie.   My  conscience  ! — wuU  ye  really  1 

(Rob  Roy,  in  his  Highland  dress,  unarmed,  appears  in  tM 
back-ground^  and  listens.,  r.UvE,) 


Scene.  IV.  ROB  ROY.  39 

Capt.  T.  Now,  my  friend,  let  us  understand  each  other. 
You  have  confessed  yourself  a  spy,  and  should  string  up  to 
the  next  tree  ; — but.  come, — if  you  will  lead  mc  and  a  small 
party  to  the  place  where  you  left  your  master,  you  shall  then 
go  about  your  business  ;  and  I'll  give  you  five  guineas  earnest 
to  boot 

Doug.  Oigh,  oigh  !  she  canna  do  tat, — she'd  rather  bfl 
hanged  ! 

Cajyt.  T.   Hanged  then  you  shall  be. 

Bailie.  Hanged  !     My  conscience  ! 

Cajit.  T.  Sergeant,  away  with  him. 

People.   O  hone  !   0  hone  !   (Serjeant  seizes  Dougal.) 

Doug.  (^]3ercciving  Rob.)  Hooly,  hooly — she'll  do  her 
honor's  bidding. 

Bailie.  WuU  ye  ?  Then  ye  deserve  to  be  hanged,  ye  Hie- 
land  deevil !  Awa'  wi'  him — awa'  wi'  him  !  he's  owre  lang 
leeving. 

Cajjt.  T.  Mr.  Jarvie — Mr.  Bailie  Jar  vie,  its  my  belief, 
Sir,  when  your  own  turn  arrives,  you  will  not  be  in  such  a 
deevil  of  a  hurry. 

Bailie.  Me  ?  Mine  ?  I'm  a  BaiUe — my  faither  was  a  Dea- 
con !     My  conscience  !  wad  ye  hang  a  magistrate  ? 

Doug.  She'll  no  seek  her  to  gang  ony  far'er  than  just  to 
let  you  see  whar  the  red  Gregarach  is  '^ 

Capt.  T.  Not  a  step. 

Doug.  And  te  five  guineas  ? 

Capt.  T.  Here  they  are.  {takes  out  his  purse,  and  ccMuZ 
the  money  into  Dougal's  hands.) — One. 

Doug.  Aon. 

Capt.  T.  Two. 

Doug.  Da. 

Capt.  T.  Three. 

Doug.  Tri. 

Ca2ot.  T.  Four. 

Doug.  Ceithar.  {a  pause,  G apt.  T.  fetling  in  his  purse — 
Dougal  impatient.')   Coig  ! 

Capt.  T.  Coig !— what  the  devil  does  the  fellow  mean? 
Coig  !   (Bailie  shakes  his  head.) 

Doug.   (recollecti?ig.)  Hout,  teevil,  five,  five. 

Capt.    T.   Oh!   (^gives  him  the  fifth  guinea.) 

Bailie.  The  Dougal  creature's  waur  than  I  thought  him— • 
a  warldly  and  perfidious  creature  !  My  worthy  faither,  the 
Deacon— rest  be  wi'  him,   honest  man  !— used  to   say  that 


40  liOB    KOY  [Act.  IT. 

goud  slew  mair  sollls  than  the  sword  did  bodies  : — and  it'a 
true, — it's  true  Oh,  Dougal !  Dougal !  I'm  dune  wi'  ye 
now. 

Dong.   Haud  your  whisht,  Bailie — baud  your  whisht. 

Cajyt.  T.  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  and  you  Mr.  Bailie  Jarvie, 
if  ioyal  and  peaceable  subjects,  will  not  regret  being  detained 
a  few  hours,  when  it  is  essential  to  the  king's  service  ; — if 
otherwise,  I  need  no  excuse  for  acting  according  to  my  duty. 
{to  DouGAL.)  Now  oDserve,  if  you  attempt  to  deceive  me, 
you  die  by  my  hand  ! 

Bailie.  My  conscience ! 

Doug,   (aside.)  She's  no  just  sure  about  tat. 

Two  Sentinels  are  lolaccd  07i  each  side  of  the  Bailie,  who 
looks  at  them  xvith  anger  and  dismay: — the  smme  is  done 
with  Fkanois.  Dougal  leads  the  niarch^  talcing  an  oppor- 
tunity to  exchange  a  glance  of  recognition  and  understand- 
ing with  Rob  Roy. 

Capt.  T.  March. 

'Military  Music — they  march  from  c.  to  ^.  then  up  Ti.^ojf 
R.u.E. — Music  dies  away  as  tJiey  disappear 

Enter  Rob  Roy,  and  Rashleigh  Osbaldistone /ro?;?  behind 
the  Hut.,  R. 

Rob.  (r.c.)  "Who'd  have  thought  Dougal  had  so  much 
sense  under  that  ragged  red  pow  of  his  ? 

Rash,  (l.c.)   Did  he  act  then  by  your  direction? 

Rob.  Troth  did  he  ; — and  well  acted  it  was  I — he'll  lead 
the  Saxon  Captain  up  the  loch  ;  but  not  a  red-coat  of  them 
will  come  back  to  tell  what  they  landed  in. 

Rash.  And  their  prisoners — my  cousin,  and  the  Bailie? 

Rob.  They'll  be  safe  enough  while  Dougal's  with  them. 

Rash.  Perhaps  not.  [aside.) 

Rob.  Fetch  my  dirk  and  claymore,  some  of  you.  I  must 
away. 

Rash,  (aside.)  If  Thornton  has  been  fool  enough  to  bo 
led  into  au  ambuscade  : — this   opportunity  shall  not  be  lost. 

Rob.  My  dirk  and  claymore  !  I  must  attack  these  buz- 
zards in  the  rear.  [J.  Boy  runs  into  tlie  inn. 

Rash.  A  word,  MacGregor.  You  told  me  your  whole 
force  was  disposed  to  watch  the  different  parties  sent  to  sur- 
prise you. 


Scene  III.  ROB   ROY.  41 

Bob.   I  did. 

Rash.  How  then  have  you  been  able  to  provide  so  sud 
deuly  for  this  unexpected  party  of  Thornton's  ? 

Hob.  Look  around  you. 

Rash.  Well 

Hob.  Think  you  that  any  but  old  men,  women,  and  bairns, 
would  stand  idle  when  King  James's  cause  or  MacGrregor's 
safety  needed  them  ?  Ten  determined  men  might  keep  the 
pass  of  Lochart  against  a  hundred  ; — and  I  sent  every  man 
forward  that  had  strength  to  wield  a  dirk  or  draw  a  trigger. 

Rash.  Indeed  !    Move  on  then  ! — G-albraith  !  MacStuart  ! 

T/ie  People  shout.  Rob  rans  to  different  entrances.,  but  is 
met  by  Soldiers,  xcho  aim  at  him.  Rasiileigh  seizes  the 
claymore  from  the  boy^  and  points  it  at  him.^  e..  : — pause., 

Rob  is  boujul. 

Rash,  (r.)  NoW;  MacGregor,  we  meet  as  befits  us,  for  tho 
fiist  time. 

Rob.  (c.)  But  not  the  last.  Oh!  villain!  villain!  vil- 
lian ! 

Rash.  I  should  better  have  deserved  that  reproach,  when, 
under  the  direction  of  an  able  tutor,  I  sought  to  introduce 
civil  war  into  the  bosom  of  a  peaceful  country;  lut  I  have 
done  my  best  to  atone  for  my  errors.  G-albraith,  let  him  be 
mounted  on  the  same  horse  with  the  strongest  trooper  of 
your  squadron,  buckled  in  the  same  belt,  and  guarded  on 
every  side,  'till  he's  safe  iu  the  garrison. 

Rob.  There's  a  day  of  reckoning  at  hand  I — think  on't — 
dream  on't — there's  not  a  red  MacGregor  in  the  country,  but 
from  this  time  forward  marks  you  for  a  traitor's  doom. 
There's  a  day  to  come — you  have  not  yet  subdued  Rob  Roy  ! 

Rash.  Away. 

Military  Music — Rob  is  led  ofi..,  looking  steadily  at  Rash* 

LEIGH. 


FINALE. 

Highlanders  and  Soldiers. 

Chorus.  Tramp,  tramp,  o'er  moss  and  fell, 

High.        MacGregor's 
Soldiers     The  Robbers 


High.        MacGregor's    )     ^^^^^^ 


42  ROB  ROY.  [Act  ill 

■  High.       .MacGregor's    )     ^     ^ 
Soldiers.    Thj  Traitors    J  ' 

And  wailing  clans  shall  hear  his  knell, 
Whose  battle  cry 
Was  "  win  ordie  !" 

SOLO. 

Kathf,        Guardian  spirits  of  the  brave, 

Freedom  grant,  the  chieftain  save. 

Chorus. — Tramp,  tramp,  &c. 

\EtUh. 


END   OF    ACT    II. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  l.^-T7ie  Pass  of  Lochard. — Military  Music. 

Jbl'nter  Dougal,  Captain  Thornton.  Francis  Osbaldistone, 
Bailie  Xicol  Jarvie,  Serjeant  a?i(i  Soldiers,  r. 

Capt.  T.  (c.)  Halt!  Front!  {to  Dougal.)  Go  to  the 
front,  Sir.  (to  the  Bailie.)  Now,  Sir,  you  wish  to  speak  with 
me. 

Bailie,  (r.)  Yes,  Captain,  I  crave  that  liberty;  and  for 
the  sake  o'  a'  concerned,  I'm  sorry  you  didna  grant  it  a  full 
half  hour  gane  by ;  for  it's  my  sincere  advice,  for  the  sake 
o'  ye're  friends  in  general,  and  mysel'  in  particular,  that  you 
mak  the  best  o"  your  way  back  again  to  a  place  o'  safety  : — 
if  you  do  not,  by  the  hand  o'  my  body  !  there  is  no  ane  of 
us  will  gang  hame  to  tell  the  tale. 

Capt.  T.  Make  yourself  easy.  Sir. 

Bailie.  Easy  !  I  canna  mak  mysel'  easy.  Sir.  My  con- 
Bcience  ! — he'll  hae  us  a'  butcher'd.   {aside.) 

Capt.  T.  As  you  are  friends  of  the  government,  gentle- 
men, you  will  be  happy  to  learn  that  it  is  impossible  thia 
gang  of  ruffians  can  escape  the  measures  now  taken  to  sup- 
press them.  Various  strong  parties  from  the  garrison  secure 
the  hills  in  different  parts  :  three  hundred  Highlanders  are 
in  possession  of  the  upper,  while  Major  Galbraith  and  his 
troopers  occupy  the  lower  passes  of  this  country. 

BaiUe.    Ah !  that  sounds  a'  very  weel ;    but,  in  the  first 


BCBSTE  I.  ROB    ROY.  '13 

5»lace,  there's  mair  brandy  than  brains  in  tbe  head  o'  thaft 
Major  Galbraith  ;  in  the  next.  I  wadna  hae  your  place  owro 
muckle  confidence  in  the  Hielanders — Corbies  winna  pick 
out  corbies'  een.  They  may  quarrel  amang  themsel's.  and 
gie  ilk  ither  a  stab  wi'  a  dirk,  or  a  slash  wi'  a  claymore  now 
and  then ;  but  tak  my  word  for't,  they  are  sure  to  join  iu 
the  lang  run  against  a'  fo'ks  that  wear  breeks  on  their  hinner 
ends,  and  hae  got  purses  in  their  pockets. 

Cajit.  T.  (\..c.  suddenly  turning  to  jyovG Ala.)  The  route 
you  have  led  us  is  dangerous,  and  therefore  suspicious. 

Doug.  Weel,  weel,  Dougal  dinna  mak  the  roads. 

Bailie    That's  very  true. 

Doug.  If  the  shentlemans  wad  gang  upon  better  gaits  they 
should  hae  staid  at  hames  at  Glasgo'. 

Bailie.  That  they  should,  indeed  ! 

Doug.  Besides,  your  honor  can  no  tink  to  tak  th-e  red 
Gregarach  without  some  tanger. 

Bailie.  The  Dougal  creature's  right  again, 

Capt.  T.  You  dog,  if  you  have  deceived  me,  I'll  blow  your 
brains  out  on  the  spot.  Your  caution,  Sir,  shall  not  go  un- 
regarded (to  the  Bailie.)  but  we  must  proceed. 

Bailie,  (r  c.)  Proceed]  My  conscience!  there's  some- 
thing deevilish  hard  in  being  obliged  to  risk  ane's  life  in  a 
quarrel  with  which  we  hae  nae  concern. 

Fran.  I  sincerely  grieve  that  your  kindness  for  me  has  led 
you  into  perils,  in  a  cause  which  is  now  so  hopeless. 

Bailie.  We  may  shake  hands  on't.  Your  troubles  will 
sune  be  owre,  and  I  shall  slumber  wi'  my  worthy  faither,  the 
Deacon, — rest  and  bless  him. 

Capt.  T.  Now,  my  lads,  forward ! 

Helen  MacGregok,  ajjpears  07i  the  ]joi7it  of  a  projecting 
rock,  with  a  claymore  and  target ;  a  brace  of  pistols  in  lier 
belt,  ami  a  ma7vS  bonnet  and  tartan  plaid,  r.,  3  e. 

Helen.  Hold  there  !  Stand  !  Tell  me  what  seek  you  in 
the  country  of  the  MacGregor  ? 

Bailie.  By  the  soul  o'  my  faither,  the  Deacon  !  it's  Rab'a 
wife,  Helen  ! — there'l  be  broken  heads  amang  us  in  three 
minutes. 

Helen.  Answer  me  !  what  is  it  you  seek  ? 

Capt  T.  (l.)  The  outlaw'd  rebel  MacGregor  Campbell. 
Ofler  no  vain  resistance,  and  assure  yourself  of  kind  treat* 
mcnt.     We  make  no  war  on  women. 


44  ROB     EOY.  [iiJT.  III. 

Hdcn.  Ay,  I  am  no  stranger  to  your  tender  mercies  !  Ye 
have  left  me  neither  name,  nor  fame  ; — my  mother's  bones 
will  shrink  in  their  grave  when  mine  are  laid  beside  them! 
Ye  have  left  me  neither  house  nor  hold — blanket  nor  bedding 
— cattle  to  feed,  or  flocks  to  clothe  us  ; — you  have  taken  from 
us  all — all ! — the  very  name  of  our  ancestors  you  have  takea 
from  us,  and  now  you  come  to  seek  our  lives  I 

Capt.  T.  I  seek  no  man's  life,  nor  would  I  rashly  lose  my 
own. 

Bailie.   Nor  I  mine  ! 

Capt.  T.  You  have,  therefore,  nothing  to  fear  ;  but  should 
there  be  any  among  you  hardy  enough  to  olTer  unavailing 
resistance,  their  own  bloods  be  on  their  heads.  A  hundred 
guineas  for  Rob  Roy  ! 

Helen..  Fire ! 

Capt.  T.  Forward! 

The  lieads  of  the  Highlanders  appear  above  tlie  rocks.  A  vol- 
ley is  fired  as  Helen  disap)pears.  The  first  party  of  soldiers 
led  on  by  the  Serjeant,  return  it.,  aiuL  rush  forward.  Tim 
Bailie  at  the  first  discharge  starts  forioard  in  great  alarin 
and  scrambles  up  a  rock.  Dougal  at  the  same  time  rushes 
on  ivith  Highlanders.,  ivho  drive  the  soldiers  up  tlie  Pass  ; 
then  re-enters.,  and  rtislies  off  to  assist  tlie  Bailie.  Tlie 
d?-ums,  bugles,  and  bigjvpes.,  Iteard  iticcssantly .  As  the 
tumidt  subsides  in  the  distance,  Francis  Osbaldistone 
re-enters,  r. 

Fra7i.  The  contest  has  terminated,  and,  I  fear,  fatally  for 
the  assailants.  But  where  is  my  poor  friend?  I  saw  him  in 
a  situation  of  imminent  danger,  but  I  trust  no  random  shot 
has  confirmed  his  melancholy  prophecy. 

Bailie,   {toithout.)  My  conscience  ! 

Enter  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie,  l.  2  e.,  greatly  disordered :  the 
skirts  of  his  coat  torn  of,  and  ragged,  his  ivig  off,  shoicing 
his  bald  2xite  ;  he  seizes  a  cocked  hat  which  is  left  on  the 
Stage,  and  in  his  co)7fusio?t  2Juts  it  on  his  liead. 

Bailie.  My  conscience  ! 

Fran.  Somewhat  damaged,  I  perceive ;  but  I  heartily  re- 
joice the  case  is  no  worse. 

Bailie.  Thank  ye,  thank  ye — the  case  is  naething  to  brag 
o': — they  say  a  friend  sticks  as  close  as  a  blister — My  con- 


Scene.  I.  ROB   ROV  43 

science  !  I  wish  I  had  fand  it  sac.  {putting  lums.e}f  to 
rigJUs.)  When  1  cam'  up  to  this  cursed  country, — forgic  me 
for  swearing  ! — on  nae  ane's  errand  but  yours,  Mr.  Osbal- 
distone,  d'ye  think  it  was  fair,  when  my  foot  slipped,  and  I 
hung  by  the  hurdies  to  the  branch  o'  a  ragged  thorn,  to  leave 
me  dangling,  like  the  sign  o"  the  Golden  Fleece  owre  the  door 
o'  a  mercer's  shop  on  Ludgatehill  ?  D'ye  think  it  was  kind, 
I  say,  Sir:  to  let  me  be  shot  at  like  a  regimental  target,  set 
i;p  for  ball  practice,  and  never  ance  try  to  help  me  down, 
.^ir  1 

Fran.  My  good  Sir,  recollect  the  impossibility  of  my 
affording  you  any  relief,  without  assistance.  But  how  were 
you  able  to  extricate  yourself? 

Bailie.  Me  extricate  !  My  conscience  !  I  should  hae 
hung  there,  like  Mahomet'.';  coffin,  till  the  day  o'  Pentecost, 
'gin  it  hadna  been  for  that  Dougal  creature.  He  cut  aff  the 
tails  o'  my  coat,  and  clappit  me  on  my  legs  again,  as  clean  a3 
if  I  had  never  been  aff  them. 

Fran.  And  where  is  Dougal  now? 

Bailie.  Following  your  example,  Sir. 

Fran.  My  example  !     What's  that  ? 

Bailie.  Taking  deevilish  gude  care  o'  himsel'.  lie  warned 
me  to  keep  clear  o'  that  amiable  leddy  we  saw  the  noo  ;  and 
troth  he's  right  there  again  ;  for  Kab  himsel's  frightened  for 
her,  when  her  bluid's  up. 

Fran.  Do  you  know  her  ? 

Bailie.  A  deevilish  deal  owre  weel;  but  it's  lang  since 
we've  met,  and  it's  odds  if  she'll  remember  me. 

Ttvo  or  ?/i7-ee  Highlanders  rush  forward~-T>ovGM.  follmving. 

Highlayiders.  Mair  Saxons  ! — whiz  a  brace  o'  ball  through 
'em. 

Dong.  Haud,  baud  ! — they're  friends  to  the  MacGregor. 

Bailie.  Yes  !  I  carena  wha  kens  it — I'm  a  MacGregor  ! — 
We're  baith  MacGregors  ! 

Helen   MacGregor,  followed  by  Highlanders,  advance 
doivn  the  Pass,  e.u.e..  to  a  March. 

Helen,  (r.c.)  Englishmen,  and  without  arms  '-i- — that's 
strange,  where  there  is  a  MacGregor  to  hunt  and  slay  ! 

Bailie,  (r.)  (Jiesitating.)  1 — I  am  very  happy — exceeding 
happy — to  hae  this  joyfu'  opportunity — ahem  ! — this  joyfu' 


46  noB  ROY  fAcTllI 

occasion  o'  wishing  my  kinhiiian  Rab's  wife, — a — a — [she  kola 
at  him  xoit't  great  contempt^ — a  very  good  morning. 

Helen,   (c. )   Is  it  so  ? 

Bailie.  Ye'il  maybe  bae  forgotten  me,  Mrs.  Helen  Camp- 
bell ;  but 

Hele7i.  How!  Campbell!  My  foot's  upon  my  native  heath, 
and  my  name  is  Macdregor. 

Bailie.  Very  weel,  Mrs.  Camp — Mrs.  Rob  Roy — tutz — i 
Mrs.  MacGregor,  I  l-^g  pardon  ;  I  would  just  crave  the  lib- 
erty o'  a  kinsman  to  salute  you. 

Helen.  What  fellow  art  thou,  that  dare  claim  kindred  with 
our  clan,  yet  neither  wear  our  dress  nor  speak  our  language  ? 
Who  are  you  that  have  the  tongue  and  habit  of  the  hound, 
yet  seek  to  shelter  with  the  deer  ? 

Bailie.  Why  my  mither,  Elspeth  Macfarlane,  was  the  wife 
o'  my  faither  Nicol  Jarvie  ; — she  was  the  daughter  o'  Parlane 
Macfarlane,  and  Maggy  Macfarlane  married  Duncan  M'Nab, 
wha  stood  in  the  fourth  degree 

Helen.  And  doth  the  stream  of  rushing  water  acknowledge 
any  relationship  with  the  portion  that's  withdrawn  from  it  for 
the  mean  domestic  use  of  those  who  dwell  upon  its  banks  % 

Bailie.  Maybe  no ;  but  when  the  summer's  sun  has  dried 
up  the  brook,  and  left  naething  but  the  chucky-stanes,  it  wad 
fain  hae  that  portion  back  again.     I  ken  ye  baud  us  Glasco' 

bodies  unco  cheap ;    but.  Lord  help  ye,  Mrs.    Ca 

MacGregor,  think  what  a  figure  I  should  cut  wi'  my  puir  auld 
hurdies  in  a  kilt,  and  hose  gartered  below  the  knee.  My 
conscience  !  I  wad  be  a  bonny  figure.  I  hae  been  very  ser- 
viceable to  Rab  as  I  am.  and  wad  be  mair  sae,  gin  he  wad 
leave  aff  his  evil  way.  and  no  disturb  the  king's  peace. 

Helen.  Yes — you,  and  such  as  you,  would  have  us  hewers 
of  wood,  and  drawers  of  water — you'd  have  us  find  cattle  for 
your  banquets,  and  subjects  for  your  laws  to  oppress  and 
trample  on  :  But  we  are  free — free  by  the  very  act  which 
has  left  us  neither  house  nor  hearth,  food  or  covering, — 
which  has  bereaved  us  of  all — all  but  vengeance ! 

Bailie.  For  Heaven's  sake  dinna  speak  o'  vengeance  ! 

Helen.  I  will  speak  on't.  I  will  perform  it  too  : — I  will 
carry  on  this  day's  work  by  a  deed  that  shall  break  all  bonda 
between  MacGregor  and  the  Lowlanders  for  ever.  Here! 
Allan,  Dougal,  bind  these  Sassenachs  neck  and  heels,  and 
throw  them  into  the  Highland  Loch  to  seek  for  their  High- 
land kinsrsfolk. 


[ScENB  I  ROB    ROY.  47 

Bailie.  My  conscience ! 

Doug,  (l.c.)  Oigh  !  to  be  surely,  her  pleasure  maun  b« 
done. 

Bailie.  Ah !  but  Dougal !  ye  ken 

Doug.  Oh  ay  !  they  are  friends  o'  te  chief,  as  I  can  tes- 
tify, and  cam'  here  ou  his  assurance  o'  welcome  and  safety. 

Helen  Dog  !  were  I  to  order  you  to  tear  out  their  hearts, 
and  place  them  in  each  other's  breasts,  to  see  which  there 
could  best  plot  treason  against  the  MacGregor, — would  you 
dare  to  dispute  my  orders  !  (^distant  voices  are  Itcard.,  sing- 
ing the  burthen  of  "  The  Lament.")  Hark  !  hark  !  what 
means  that  strain?  {cm  emot.ion  of  alarm  in  the  Highland- 
ers. Helen  becomes  more  agitated  as  the  sounds  approach.') 
AVhy  is  this  ?     Why  a  lament  in  the  moment  of  victory  ? 

Enter  Robert,  Hamish,  aiul  a  party  of  Highlanders,  l. 

Robert,  Hamish,  where's  the  MacGregor?  Where's  your 
father  %  {they  intimate  his  captivity. )  Ah  I  a  prisoner — 
taken  prisoner  !  Then  MacGregor  dies  !  Cowards,  did  I 
nurse  you  for  this,  that  you  should  spare  your  blood  on  your 
father's  enemies — that  you  should  see  him  taken  prisoner, 
and  come  back  to  tell  it  !  Ah  !  cowards — cowards  !  {sud- 
denly turning  to  Francis.)     Your  name  is  Osbaldistone  ? 

Fran,   (r.)  It  is. 

Helen,   (c.)   Rashleigh?   {presenting  a  pistol.') 

Fran.  No  ;  Francis. 

Helen.  That  word  has  saved  you.  {puts  the  pistol  in  her 
belt.) 

Fran.  Rashleigh  is  my  cousin ;  but  for  what  cause  I  am 
unable  to  divine,  he  is  my  bitterest  enemy. 

Helen.  I'll  tell  you  the  cause.  You  have  unconsciously 
thwarted  him  in  love  and  in  ambition.  He  robbed  your 
father's  house  of  government  papers,  to  aid  a  cause  which  ho 
has  this  day  deserted,  and  by  his  treachery  has  my  husband 
fallen.  Dare  you  carry  a  message  to  these  blood-hounds, 
from  the  wife  of  your  friend  ? 

Fran.  I  am  ready  to  set  out  immediately 

Bailie.  So  am  I. 

Helen.  No,  you  must  remain  ;  I  have  further  occasion  for 
you.     Bring  forth  the  Saxon  Captain. 

Exit  DoUGAL.  L.U.E. 

Fran.  You  will  be  pleased  to  understand,  that  I  canaa 
into  this  country  on  your  husband's  invitation,  and  his  as* 


48  ROB  uoy.  I  Act  III 

surance  of  aid  in  the  recovery  of  those  papers  you  have  just 
now  mentioned  ;  and  my  friend,  Mr.  Jarvie,  accompanied 
me  on  the  same  errand. 

Bailie.  And  I  wish  your  friend  Mr.  Jarvie's  boots  had 
been  fu'  o'  boiling  water,  when  he  pat  them  on  for  sic  a  dam- 
nable purpose. 

Helen.  Sons,  you  may  read  your  father  in  what  this  young 
man  tells  you ; — wise  only  when  the  bonnet's  on  his  head, 
and  the  claymore  is  iix  his  hand.  He  never  exchanges  the 
tartan  for  the  broad  cloth,  but  he  runs  himself  into  the  mis- 
erable intrigues  of  these  Lowlanders,  and  becomes  again  their 
agent,  their  tool,  their  slave  ! 

JEnter  Captain  Thornton,  led  on  hy  Dougal,  ^-c,  l.u.e. 

But  enough  of  this.  Now,  mark  well  r&j  message.  If  they 
injure  a  hair  of  the  MacGregor's  head,  if  they  do  not  set 
hi]n  at  liberty  within  the  space  of  twelve  hours,  I  will  send 
them  back  their  Saxon  Captain,  and  this  Glasgow  Bailie, 
each  bundled  in  a  plaid,  and  chopped  into  as  many  pieces  as 
there  are  checks  in  the  tartan. 

Bailie.  My  conscience  I  For  Heaven's  sake  diuna  send 
eican  a  message  ! 

Cajyt.  T.  (l.)  Give  the  commanding  officer  my  compli- 
ments, Sir, — Captain  Thornton's  compliments,  of  the  Royals. 
— tell  him  to  do  his  duty,  and  not  to  waste  a  thought  on  me. 
I  am  only  sorry  for  the  poor  fellows  that  have  fallen  into 
such  butcherly  hands.  If  I  have  been  deceived  by  these  art- 
ful savages,  I  know  how  to  die  for  my  error,  without  dis- 
gracing the  king  I  serve,  or  the  country  that  gave  me  birth  ! 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !  whisht  !  are  you  weary  o'  your  life  ! 
Oh !  Mr.  Osbaldistone  I  gie  my  service. — Bailie  Nicol  Jar- 
vie's service,  a  merchant  and  a  magistrate  in  the  Saut  market 
o'  Glasgow, — and  tell  them  there  are  some  folks  here  in  great 
tribulation,  and  {looJdng  at  Helen)  like  to  come  to  mair ; 
and  the  best  thing  they  can  do  for  a'  parties,  is  just  to  let 
Rab  awa',  and  mak'  nae  mair  about  it. 

Helen.  Remember  my  injunctions ;  for  as  sure  as  that 
sun  shall  sink  beneath  the  mountain,  my  words  shall  be  ful- 
filled. If  I  wail,  others  shall  wail  with  me  ; — there's  not  a 
lady  in  the  Lennox,  but  shall  cry  the  Coronach  for  those  she 
will  be  loth  to  lose: — there's  not  a  farmer  but  shall  cry, 
"  Weel  awa',"  over  a  burnt  barn-yard,  and  an  empty  byre  ; — 


i.    ENE  I.  ROB    ROY.  49 

thero's  not  a  laird  shall  hi_v  liis  head  on  thu  pillow  at  nij^ht, 
with  the  assurance  of  being  a  live  man  in  the  morning.  Con- 
duet  him  on  his  way.  {S/ic  signs  to  one  of  the  Highlanders. 
The  Bailie,  nmci/ling  to  leave  Francis,  is  foliowing him  ojf, 
u-hcn  a  IlighJander  siiddcnhj  seizes  him  by  the  neck,  and 
throws  him  round  to  his  former  situation.  Exit  Francis 
and  guide  l.  Captain  Thornton  retires,  guarded,  l.v.e.) 
Now  Allaster,  the  •'  Lament  !'•  the  '•  Lament  I" 

LAMENT. 

O  lione  a  rie  !  O  hone  a  rie  ! 
Before  the  sun  has  sunk  to  rest, 
The  turt'  will  lie  upon  his  breast, 

O  hone  a  rie,  &.c. 
The  pride  of  all  our  line  deplore. 
Brave  MacGregnr  is  no  more, 

O  hone  a  rie,  &c. 
Koy's  wife,  &c. 

She  sinks  in  grief  itpon  the  rock,  r.,  2  e..  in  front,  uhile  the 
'•  Lamcnf"  is  sung ; — at  the  close. 

Rob.   (l.  without.')   Gregarach  ! 
Doug.  Rob  Roy  !  Rob  Roy  ! 

Rob  Roy  rushes  on  l.,"  and  is  received  in  the  arms  of  Helen, 
xvitli  a  wild  and  exulting  shout  from  the  Clan.  The  Bai- 
lie, exhilarated  to  tJie  highest  jiitch  of  joy,  from  the  deepest 
despondency. 

Helen.  MacGregor  ! — husband  ! — life  ! 

Bailie.  But  how  did  you  get  out  o'  their  clutches.  Rab? 

Rob.  Passing  the  ford  of  Avandow,  Ewan  of  Brigkanda 
cut  the  belt  that  bound  us;  and  I  duck'd  and  dived  down 
the  river,  where  not  one  trooper  in  a  thousand  would  have 
dared  to  follow  me. 

Helen.   And  how  fell  you  within  their  grasp? 

Rob.  By  him  who  has  placed  a  brand  where  he  swore  to 
plant  the  olive — Rashleigh  Osbaldistone  But  were  he  the 
last  and  best  of  his  name,  may  the  fiend  keep  me,  when  we 
nest  meet,  if  this  good  blade  and  his  heart's  blood  are  not 
well  acquiinted. 

Bailie.  Week  there  are  as  mony  slips  between  the  throat 
niiil  the  gjuldws.  as  there  are  between  the  cup  and  the  lip. 
I'l..  ].k(,  H  dead  man  restored  to  life!   (a.  Bov  adoa}u:es  v:iih 


50  ROB    ROY.  [Act.  Ill 

the  Bailie's  tvig  and  cane^  rvhich  he  joyfully  receives.)   Eh 
ye're  :i  braw  Hielander  ;  ye'U  be  a  man  afore  your  mither. 
\turns  to  B.oa  J  oat  la  )-ly.)    Od,  Rab.  when  ye're  dividing  the 
spoils  o'  the  field,  if  ye  find  the  tailo'  my  coat,  I'll  be  mucklo 
obliged  to  ye  for't. 

Rob.   (latfghs.)  Drink,  lads,  drink,  and  be  blythe  ! 

DouGAL  passes  about  horn  cups  and  cans ;  tlie  music  strikes. 
The  Bailie  shale's  hands  with  Rob  Roy,  %oho  pledges  him 
vith  cordiality. 

CHORUS. 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 
Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 

We  can  be 

As  blythe  as  she, 
Dancing:  now  the  Highland  Wallach; 
Drink  and  dance,  and  sing  wi'  glee, 

joy  can  never  inak'  us  weary  ; 
Rob  is  frae  the  sodgers  free, 

And  Helen  she  has  found  her  deary  ! 

A  Highland  Dance  to  the  Bagpipes  by  Dougal,  and  High- 
land Lads  and  Lasses.  The  Bailie,  enraptured  at  his 
escape froyn  danger,  joins  the  dancers.     Scenecloses  tliem  in. 

Scene  11. —  Wild  Scenery  in  the  neighborhood  of  AberfoU. 
Enter  Francis  Osbaldistone,  l. 

Fran.  I  fear  I  have  dismissed  my  guide  too  early.  Every 
Btep  I  have  taken  since  his  departure  renders  my  way  to 
Aberfoil  more  intiicate.  The  twilight  darkens  rapidly,  and 
eacti  succeeding  moment  the  surrounding  objects  wear  a  dif« 
forent  feature,  changeful  as  my  fortunes. 

SONG. 

Air — "  Fee  him.  fatlier,  fee  /«'»»." 

O  !  life  is  like  a  summer  flower. 

Blooming  but  to  wither; 
O  love  is  like  an  April  hour, 

Tears  and  smiles  together. 
And  hope  is  but  a  vapor  light, 

The  lover's  worst  deceiver  j 


SCKKE  II.  ROB    ROY.  51 

Be/ore  him  now  it  dances  bright, 

And  now,  'tis  gone  for  ever  ! 
O  joy  i.s  but  a  passing  ray, 

Lovers'  hearts  beguiling! 
A  gleam  that  cheers  a  winter's  day, 

Just  a  moment  smiling. 
Bui  though  in  hopeless  dark  despair, 

The  thread  of  life  may  sever, 
Yet  while  it  beats,  dear  maid,  I  swear. 

My  heart  is  thine  for  ever  ! 

Enter  Sir  Frederick  mid  Diana  Vernon,  r.h.,  onujjled  in 
liorscmen^s  cluaJcs. 

Sir  F.  Soho,  friend — whither  go  you  ? 

Fran.   To  Aberfoil :  can  you  direct  me  ? 

6Yr  F.  Turn  the  projecting  rock  on  your  left,  and  the  vil- 
lage lies  before  you. 

Frail.  I  thank  you  :  in  return,  let  me  advise,  if  you  travel 
northward,  to  wail  till  the  passes  are  open; — there  has  been 
some  disturbance  in  this  neighborhood. 

Sir  F.  We  have  heard  so  , — but  the  soldiers  had  the  worst, 
had  they  not  ? 

Fran.  Yes ;  but  in  another  quarter,  the  Outlaw,  called 
Rob  Roy,  has  been  captured. 

Sir  F.  Know  you  not  Rob  Roy  has  again  escaped  'i- 

Fran.  Escaped  !  I  rejoice  to  hear  it !  That  circum- 
stance will  at  once  secure  a  friend  of  mine  from  danger,  and 
prevent  my  being  detained  by  a  commission  with  which  I 
was  entrusted  in  his  behalf 

Sir  F.  Who  are  you?     What  is  your  name? 

Fran.  My  name  can  be  of  little  conseauencc  to  an  utter 
stranger. 

Diana.  Mr.  Francis  Osbaldistone  should  not  sing  his 
favorite  airs,  when  he  wishes  to  remain  concealed. 

F-an.  Miss  Vernon  !  at  such  an  hour,  in  such  a  lawless 
country. 

Sir  F.  Now,  Diana,  give  your  cousin  his  property,  and 
waste  no  further  time. 

Diana.  But  one  moment,  Sir  ;  but  one  moment,  to  say 
farewell. 

Sir  F   Remember,  'tis  your  last 

\F,xit  L. 

Fran.   Our  last ! 

Diana.  Yes,  dear  Frank  ! — there  is  a  gulph  between  us — 


52  ROB    ROY.  [Act.  Ill 

agulph  of  absolute  perdition.  "Where  we  go,  you  must  not 
follow.  What  we  do,  you  must  not  share  in  Take  from  my 
hand  these  eventful  papers  ; — poor  Scotland  has  lost  her 
freedom,  but  your  father's  credit  will  at  least  be  restored. 

Fran.  And  is  there  no  way  in  which  I  may  b"^  allowed  to 
show  my  gratitude  ? 

Diana.  Alas,  none  !     Adieu  !  be  happy  ! 

SONG. 

Air.—"  The  Lass  of  Pane's  Mill:' 

Forlorn  and  broken-hearted 

I  weep  my  last  adieu  ! 
And  sigh  o'er  joys  departed, 

That  time  can  ne'er  renew. 

Farewell,  my  love!  I  leave  thee, 

For  some  far  distant  shore  ; 
Let  no  fond  hope  deceive  thee, — 

We  part  to  meet  no  more  ! 

Tho'  grief  may  long  oppress  thee, 

Your  love  I'll  ne'er  resign; 

My  laiest  sigh  shall  bless  thee. 

My  last  sad  tear  be  thine  ! 

Farewell,  my  love,  &c. 

\^Exeunt  D1.4.NA,  l.,  Francis,  11. 

Scene  III. — hiterior  of  Jean  MacAlpine^s  Change  House. 

Bailie  Nicol  Jaryie  discovered  at  the  table. 

Bailie.  Weel,  after  the  fatigue  it  has  been  my  lot  to  suffer 
this  blessed  day,  a  cup  0'  brandy  does  nae  harm.  My  cousin 
E,ab  is  bringing  up  his  family  to  an  ill  end  ;  and  as  for  my 
cousin  Helen — My  conscience!  (^drinks.)  Thank  Heaven,  X 
shall  soon  leave  this  dolefu'  country. 

Enter  Roc  E,oy,  l.d.f. — He  sits  dovm  opposite  the  BArLi^t 

Rab  again  ! — why,  the  man's  like  a  bogle,  or  a  ghaist. 

Hoh.  (l  )  'Twas  business  that  made  me  follow  yor  so 
quicklj'.  Bailie,  and  business  waits  for  no  man  ;  there  is  the 
two  hundred  pound.s  I  promised  you — Never  say  a  High- 
lander belifd  liis  word 

Badie.    (r.  )    Ye'ro  lui  honest  man.  Rab;  that  is,  ye've  asori 


BcsNE  II.  ROB    ROY.  53 

o'  fconcsty, — a  kind  o' — Rab  ye're  an  honest  rogue. 

Hob.  Come,  come,  take  your  money,  and  your  cup,  and  say 
no  more  about  it. 

Bailie.  Weel,  here's  your  health,  and  my  cousin  Helen's 
health,  and  your  twa  hopefu'  sons,  of  whom  mair  anon. 
\{il.'inks.)  As  to  Helen,  her  reception  o'  me  this  blessed  day 
'was  the  north  side  o'  friendly,  that  I  maun  say. 

Rob.  Say  nothing  of  her,  but  what  is  befitting  a  friend  to 
eay.  and  her  husband  to  hear. 

Bailie.  Weel,  weel,  we'll  let  that  flee  stick  to  the  wa' ;  but 
I  maun  tell  j'ou,  that  your  sons  are  as  ignoranfe  as  the  very 
cattle  you  used  to  drive  to  market. 

Rob.  And  M'here  was  I  to  get  them  teachers  ?  Would  you 
have  me  put  on  the  College-gate  of  Glasgow, — '•  Wanted,  a 
Tutor  for  the  Children  of  Hob  Roy,  the  Outlaw  ?" 

Bailie.  No  exactly ;  that  cock  wudna  fecht ; — but  you 
might  hae  taught  them  something. 

Rob.  I  have  taught  them  something.  Hamish  can  bring 
down  a  black-cook  on  the  wing,  with  a  single  bullet ;  and  his 
brother  drive  a  dirk  through  a  two-inch  deal  board. 

Bailie.  Sae  muckle  the  waur,  Rab — sae  rauckle  the  waur. 
But  I  hae  been  thioking,  Rab,  to  tak'  them  hame  to  the 
Saut  market,  and  mak'  them  'prentices  ;  (Rob  starts  angrily.') 
— and  I'll  gie  ye  back  your  twa  hundred  pound  for  the  sat- 
isfaction. 

Rob.  What  !  a  hundred  thousand  deevils ! — the  sons  of 
MacGregor.  weavers  !  I'd  sooner  see  every  loom  in  Glasgow, 
beams,  traddles,  and  shuttles,  burnt  in  hell-fire! 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !  that  wad  be  a  bleeze  !  Weel,  weel, 
you  needna  grip  your  dirk,  as  though  you  were  gaun  to  drive 
it  through  me  ;   I'm  no  a  twa-inch  deal  board. 

Rob.  Give  me  your  hand.  You  mean  well,  but  you  press 
over  hard  on  my  temper.  Consider  what  I  have  been,  and 
what  I  am  become  ;  above  all.  consider  the  cause  that  has 
forced  me  to  become  what  I  am. 

Enter  Francis  Osbaldistone,  l.d.f. 

Tran.  Ah  !  MacGregor  and  Mr.  Jarvie. — both  safe  ! 

Rob.  Ay,  and  like  to  keep  so  ;  the  worst  hour  is  past. 

BoAlic.  My  conscience  I  but  it  has  left  plenty  o'  sair  banei 
ahint  it  ;  but  a  man  mustna  expect  to  carry  the  comforts  o' 
the  Sautmarket  at  his  tail  when  he  gangs  visiting  his  Hie- 
land  kinsfolk. 


54  r.oB    ROY.  [Act.  III. 

Roh.  {aside  to  Francis.)  Your  father  is  now  in  Glasgow; 
send  the  packet  to  him,  by  Mr.  Jarvie. 

Fran.  My  father  !     How  knew  you  this  ? 

Rob.  Dispatch  your  business,  and  follow  me.  You  shall 
see  the  moonlight  on  the  mountain — you  shall  hear 

Bailie.  What? 

Rob.  The  night-bird  scream ! — will  you  listen  to  her 
bodings? — Now  the  mist  is  on  the  brae,  and  the  spirit  of  tho 
Gregarach  walks  ! — but  I  forget ! — You  mean  kindly.  Fare- 
well, cousin — farewell,  (^shakes  hands  ivith  the  Bailie,  wtoO 
is  inuch  affected.  To  Francis.)  Follow  me  towards  the 
Loch  ;  I  would  speak  with  you  in  private,  (as  Rob  is  abovtt 
to  exit,  the  Bailie  goes  up  to  him,  and  offers  him.  tJie  purse, 
which  lie  rejects. ) 

Rob.  Keep  your  trash.  Bailie,  keep  your  trash. 

lExit,  D.p. 

Bailie.  What  did  Rab  say  to  ye  ? 

Fran.  Something  concerning  these  papers. 

Bailie.  Ey  ! — pa,pers !  Why,  by  the  son  o'  my  faither, 
Rab  is  an  honest — Stay  !  (Francis  tears  open  the  packet  ) 
Here's  Mr.  Owen's  list, — •'  Catch'em  and  Whittington,  706," 
delightfu' ! — "  Pollock  and  Peelman,  2 — 8 — 7," — exact  !  — 
"  Grubb  and  Grinder," — right  to  a  fraction  !  Lord  save  us  ! 
•whats  this?  '-Will  o'  Sir  Hildebrand  Osbaldistone,  in 
favor  o'  his  nephew.  Francis  !"     My  conscience  ! 

Fran.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Bailie.   As  fac  as  death  ! 

Pran.  This,  then,  was  the  cause  of  Rashleigh's  unrelent- 
ing hatred. 

Bailie.  Nae  matter — we've  got  the  stuif,  praise  be  blest  I 
we've  got  the  stuff  ' 

Fran.  Mr.  Jarvie,  I  entrust  these  documents  to  your  care, 
as,  henceforward,  the  solo  agent  of  my  father's  concerns  in 
Scotland.      Take  some  repose,  and  £et  forward  early. 

Bailie.  Sole  agent! — Mr.  Osbaldistone.  {boiving\  I'll 
not  affect  to  disclaim  having  done  my  best  to  deserve  the  fa- 
vors o'  my  frien's  Ie  Orane  Alley.  Lond-on  ;  or  that  the  re- 
compence  will  not  be  highly  advantageous  to  Nieol  Jarvie. 
merchant  and  magistrate,  in  the  Sautmarket  o'  Glasgow:— 
But,  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  I  trust  you'll  say  as  little  as  need  be 
o'  our  pranks  here  amang  the  hills.  If  the  members  o'  the 
Town  Council  were  to  ken  that  ane  o'  their  body  was  seeu 
feghting  wi'  a  red  het  poker,  or  dangling  like  an  auld  scare- 


iScBWE  IV.  R.OR  nov.  59 

craw  o'er  a  potatoe-gardeu. — luy  conscience  !  thej  wudna  bo 
vrecl  pleased.  If  Bailio  Graham  was  to  hear  o't,  it  wad  be  a 
Bair  hair  in  my  neck  as  lang  as  I  leeve. 

Fran.  Fear  nothing,  Sir,  on  that  score.  Your  kiudncsa 
deserves,  and  shall  receive  every  expression  of  the  most  grate- 
ful sentiments  ;  but  let  me  beg  of  you  to  lose  no  time  in  re- 
turning home. 

Bailie.  That  you  may  swear  ;  and  the  next  time  you  catch 
me  out  o'  hearing  o'  St.  Mungo's  bells  again,  ro.ay  Rab  Roy 
sleep  wi'  his  ancestors,  and  me  wi'  his  widow  !  Eh  !  My 
conscience ! 

{^Exeunt  Bailie,  r..;  Francis,  d.f. 

Scene  IV. — Rob  Roifs  Cave.,  and    Vieio  of  Loch  Lo77iofid 
hy  Moonlight. 

Enter  Rob  Roy  and  Francis  Osbaldistone,  l.u.e. 

Rob.  Let  me  now  speak  of  my  own  concerns  :  my  kinsman 
said  something  of  my  boys,  that  sticks  in  my  heart,  and 
maddens  in  my  brain  ; — 'twas  truth  he  spoke,  yet  L  dared  not 
listen  to  it : — 'twas  fair  he  offered,  yet  I  spurned  that  offer 
from  very  pride.  My  poor  bairns  !  I'm  vexed  when  I  think 
they  must  lead  their  father's  life. 

Fran.  Is  there  no  way  for  amending  such  a  life,  and  thereby 
affording  them  on  honorable  chance  of 

Rob.  You  speak  like  a  boy !  Think  you  that  the  old 
gnarled  oak  can  be  twisted  like  the  green  sapling?  Think 
you  I  can  forget  being  branded  as  an  outlaw, — stigmatised 
as  a  traitor, — a  price  set  upon  my  head,  and  my  wife  and 
family  treated  as  the  dam  and  cubs  of  a  wolf?  The  very 
name,  which  came  to  me  from  a  long  and  noble  line  of  mar- 
tial ancestors,  denounced,  as  if  it  were  a  spell  to  conjure  up 
the  devil ! 

Fran.  Rely  on  it,  the  proscription  of  your  name  and  fam- 
ily is  considered  by  the  English  as  a  most  cruel  and  arbitrary 
law. 

Rob.  Still  is  proscribed  ; — and  they  shall  hear  of  my  ven- 
geance, that  would  scorn  to  listen  to  the  story  of  my  wrongs  ; 
• — they  shall  find  the  name  of  MacGregor  is  a  spell  to  raise 
the  wild  devil  withal.  Ah,  Ileav'n  help  me  !  I  found  deso- 
lation where  I  had  left  plenty — I  looked  east,  west,  north, 
and  south,  and  saw  neither  hold  nor  hope,  shed  nor  shelter ; 


56  ROB    ROY.  [Act,  III. 

BO  I  e'en  pulled  the  bonnet  o'er  ray  brow,  buckled  the  broad- 
sword to  my  side,  took  to  the  mountain  and  the  glen, — and 
became  a  broken  man  !  But  why  do  I  speak  of  this  ?  'Tia 
of  my  children,  of  my  poor  bairns,  I  have  thought,  and  the 
thought  will  not  leave  me. 

Fran.  Might  they  not,  with  some  assistance,  find  an  hon- 
orable resource  in  foreign  service  ?  If  such  be  your  wish, 
depend  on  its  being  gratified. 

Rob.  [stretching  one  hand  to  him.,  and  fassing  the  other 
across  his  eyes.)  I  thank  you — I  thank  you.  I  could  not 
have  believed  that  mortal  man  would  again  have  seen  a  tear 
in  MacGregor's  eye.  "^Ve'U  speak  of  this  hereafter ; — we'll 
talk  of  it  to  Helen : — but  I  cannot  well  spare  my  boys  yot : 
— the  heather  is  on  fire. 

Fran.   Heather  on  fire  !     I  do  not  understand  you. 

Rob.  Rashleigh  has  set  the  torch  ; — let  them  that  can 
prevent  the  blaze,  {bagpipes  loit'ioiit.)  Ah!  they  come; — 
then  all's  well. 

Fran.  I  comprehend,  {^seeing  the  apjoroach  of  tlie  High- 
landers, u'ho  enter.,  Hamish  and  Roi^ert  directir.g  tJieir 
movements. 

Rob.  (c.)  Have  you  seen  Diana  and  Sir  Frederick  on  their 
way? 

Helen,  (r.c.)  I  have.  Stranger,  you  came  to  our  unhappy 
country  when  our  bloods  were  chafed,  and  our  hands  were 
red  ; — excuse  the  rudeness  that  gave  so  rough  a  welcome,  and 
lay  it  on  the  evil  times,  not  upon  us. 

Rob.  Helen,  our  friend  has  spoken  kindly,  and  profi"ered 
nobly, — our  boys — our  children 

Helen.  I  understand  ; — but  no.  no  ;  this  is  not  the  time  ; 
besides,  I — no — no — I  will  not — cannot  part  from  them, 

Fran.  (r.  )  Your  separation  is  not  required  ; — leave  the 
country  with  them. 

Helen.  Quit  the  land  of  my  sires  ! — never  !  Wild  as  we 
live,  and  hopeless,  the  world  has  not  a  scene  that  could  con- 
sole me  for  the  loss  of  these  rude  rocks  and  glens,  where  the 
remembrance  of  our  wrongs  is  ever  sweetened  by  the  recol- 
lection of  our  revenge. 

Fran.  MacGregor'^ 

Rob.  She  says  truly.  'Twas  a  vain  project.  We  cannot 
follow  them — we  cannot  part  with  the  last  ties  that  render 
life  endurable.  Were  1  to  lose  siglit  of  my  native  hills,  my 
heart  would  sink,  and  uiy  arm  would  shrink  like  fern   i'   the 


Scene  IY.  ROB   ROY  57 

winter's  frosi..  No.  Helen,  no — the  heather  we  have  trode 
on  while  living,  shall  sweetly  bloom  over  us  when  dead ! 
(Helen  iJii-oivs  herself  into  his  arms.) 

Frcui.  I  grieve  that  my  opportunity  of  serving  those  who 
have  so  greatly  befriended  me  is  incompatible  with  their 
prospects  and  desires. 

Rob.  Farewell ! — the  best  wish  MacGregor  can  give  his 
friend  is,  that  he  may  see  him  no  more. 

Helen.  A  mother's  blessing,  for  the  only  kindness  shown 
for  years  to  the  blood  of  MacGregor,  be  upon  you !  Now 
farewell !     Forget  me  and  mine,  for  ever ! 

Fran.  Forget !     Impossible. 

Helen.  All  may  be  forgotten,  but  the  sense  of  dishonor, 
and  the  desire  of  vengeance. 

Rob.  No  more: — strike!  {March. —  The  Highlanders 
file  through  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Robert  and  Hamish 
sf  retch  forth  their  hands  to  Francis,  as  tl icy  pass  in  tlie  march. 
Helen  and  Rob  Rob  each  tahe  have  of  Idni  with  cordiality 
a}ul  regret.,  and  exeunt  thro^igh  the  cave.) 

Fran.  What  a  wayward  way  is  mine  !  My  father's  peace 
of  mind  is  happily  restored,  but  mine,  with  Diana,  is  lost 
for  ever. 

Rashleigii  Osbaldistone  appears  at  the  back  of  ths  Ozve, 
L.,  and  seeing  Frank,  conceals  Jmnself  r. 

What  noise  ?  surely  I  heard — No,  they  have  left  me.  (the 
boats  are  seen  passing  tlie  Loch  xvith  the  Highlanders.  ^ 
They  are  passing  the  Loch :    I  shall  see  them  no  more. 

Enter  Sir  Frederick  and  Diana  Vernon,  greatly  alarmedf 
from  l.u.e. 

Diana.  Gone  !  MacGregor-— Helen— -our  friends  gone ! 

Sir  F.  Embarked  already  !     Then  my  course  is  ended. 

Fran.  Amazement !     Diana  Vernon,  and 

Diafia.  Her  father--her  unhappy,  her  wretched  father  ! 
Oh  Frank  !  we  are  beset  by  enemies  on  every-side :  the  only 
path  by  which  we  could  escape  is  guarded. 

Fran.   No  danger  shall  befall  you  here. 

Sir  F.  Do  not  involve  yourself  in  my  fate  ; — protect  raj 
child,  biit  leave  me  to  suffer.  I  am  familiar  with  danger 
and  prepared  to  meet  it. 

Rashleigii  Oscaldistone  advances^  c. 

Rash.  Meet  it  then.  here. 


B  ROB   ROY.  [Act  III 

All.  Rashleigh  !  (Diana  turns  from  him,  to  her  father'' 
arms. ) 

Rash.  Ay,  I  come  to  repay  the  various  obligations  con 
ferred  on  me  by  my  friends,  [he  beckons  on  Soldiers.)  Ap- 
prehend Sir  Frederick  Vernon,  an  attainted  traitor ;  Diana 
Vernon,  and  Francis  Osbaldistone,  aiders  and  abettors  of 
treason. 

Fran,  (l.c.)  Rashleigh,  thou  art  too  great  a  villain  for 
words  to  speak  thee. 

Rash.  I  can  forgive  your  spleen,  my  gentle  cousin  ; — it  is 
hard  to  lose  an  estate  and  a  mistress  in  one  night.  Take 
charge  of  your  prisoners.  If  my  conduct  displeases  you, 
lady,  you  may  thank  your  minion  there. 

Fran.  I  never  gave  you  cause. 

Rash.  'Tis  false  !  In  love, — in  ambition, — in  the  paths 
of  interest,  you  have  crossed  and  blighted  mc  al  every  turn. 
I  was  born  to  be  the  honor  of  my  father's  house--!  have 
been  its  destruction  and  disgrace  ; — my  very  patrimony  has 
become  yours: — but  if  you  ever  live  to  possess  it,  the  death 
curse  of  him  you  have  thus  injured,  shall  stick  to  it !   (goes 

to  R.) 

Rob.  [without. )   Gregarach  ! 
Rash,   (^starts.)   Ah! 

lloB  Roy  darts  in  and  confronts  Rashleigh.  Highm^nd- 
ERS,  led  by  Dougal,  appear  at  tJte  mouth  of  the  cave.,  and 
overpower  the  Soldias. 

Rob.  Now  ask  mercy  for  your  soul's  sake. 

Rash.  Never!  [stayiding  oyi  Ids  guard.') 

Rob.  Claymore,  then,  {short  ayid  rap)id  combat; — Rash- 
LEiGiifal/s,  and  is  caught  by  Dougal.)  Die,  traitor,  in  vour 
treason  !  (Rashleigh  is  carried  off  by  Dougal.  Highland 
march.) 

Enter  IIelExN  Mac  Greg  or,  and  the  Clan.,  male  and  female. 
— Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie  runs  on.,  confused,  from  l.u.e. 

Bailie.  My  conscience  !  what's  here  to  do  !  I  fear  I've 
lost  my  way. 

Fran.  Mr.  Jarvie  !  I  thought  you  were  on  the  road  to 
Glasgow. 

Bailie.  I  thought  sae  too;  but.  troth,  the  brandy  has  de- 
ceived me.  My  conscience  1  to  think  o'  a  magistrate  losing 
his  head,  and  losing  his  horse  too  !      A  little  man,  ca'd   Job- 


) Scene  IV.  nOB    HOY.  5'J 

Bon,  dismounted  me  just  now  in  a  trice,  and  gallop'd  aff,  aa 
though  my  cousin  Helen  hersel'  was  at  his — [sees  Helen.) — 
My  conscience  ! 

Si/'  F.  ]5rave  Highlander  !  you  have  saved  mora  than  my 
life — you  have  preserved  my  honor  !  You,  young  'nan,  {to 
Fran.)  have  proved  yourself  worthy  of  ray  child,  and  to  you 
[  give  her.  But  whence  this  unexpected  aid?  I  surely  .«aw 
the  boats  depart    [to  lior,.) 

Rob.  With  half  my  band — no  more.  Dougal  overheard, 
and  fortunately  apprised  mc  of  llashlcigh's  intention,  and  1 
kept  up  the  appearance  which  decoyed  the  villain  to  his  own 
snare. 

Helcji.  [to  Fran.)  By  Sir  Frederick  Vernon's  means  your 
father's  house  has  been  preserved  ;  that  consideration  must 
induce  his  honorable  miud  to  confirm  the  gift  you  prize,  and 
endeavor  to  obtain  from  the  government  a  remission  of  the 
law  in  favor  of  a  noble  enemj*. 

Rob.  We  shall  rejoice  iu  your  happiness,  though  we  may 
not  share  it.  If,  in  such  moments,  you  ever  think  upon 
MaoGregor,  think  kindly  of  him  ;  and  when  you  cast  a  look 
towards  poor  old  Scotland,  do  not  forget  Rou  Roy. 

FINALE. 

Air. — "  Duncan  Gray  cam''  here  iowoo." 

Pardon  now  the  bold  Outlaw, 

Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O  ! 
Grant  him  mercy,  gentles  a', 

Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O  ! 
Let  your  hands  and  hearts  agree, 
Set  the  Highland  Laddie  I'ree — 
Mak'  us  sing  wi'  muckle  glee, 

Rob  R.oy  MacGregor,  O  ! 

Fran.     Long  the  State  has  doom'd  his  fa', 
"Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O! 
Still  he  spurn'd  ttie  hatefu'  law, 

Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O  ! 
Scots  can  for  thfir  country  die. 
Ne'er  from  Britain's  foes  ihey  flee— 
A'  that's  past  fjrget— forgie, 
Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O  ! 

Chorus, — Lei  your  hands,  dbc, 

DiANA      Scotland's  fear,  and  Scotland's  pi 'de, 
Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O  ! 
Your  awaril  must  now  abide, 
Rob  Ruy  MacGregor,  O  ! 


(JO  rob    ROY.  [Act.  IIL 

Long  your  favors  hae  been  mine, 
Favors  I  will  ne'er  resign — 
Welcome  then,  for  auld  Jang  syne, 
Rob  Roy  MacGregor,  O  ! 

Chorus, — Let  your  hands,  &c. 

R.  L. 

Highlanders.  Highlanders 

tSailie,  Sir  F.,  Dia?ia,  Francis,  Rob,  Helen,  Robert,  Hamish 

Dousal. 


FINIS. 


THE 

ROBBER'S     WIFE. 

^  'gmmtk  grama, 

IN    TWO   ACTS. 

BY 

I.    P  0  C  0  C  K,    ESQ., 

AVTS02  OP  JOHX   OF  PAHIS,    THE   MILLER  ANT)   HIS   MEN,    HIT   OB  IDMf 
THE  UAGPIE,   OR   THE   MAID?     ROBIXSON    CRUSOE,   ETC. 


CABTS  OF  CHARACTERS,  COSTUMES,  SCEXE  AND  PROPERTY  PLOTS, 
Am)  ALL  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS. 


NEW    YORK: 
■'?  A  M  U  E  L     F  R  K  N  C  II ,    r^  U  B  L  I  S  H  E  Rj 

12"2  Nas-<ac  sJiTiEKr,   (Up  Staiss.) 


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(2) 


THE  ROBBER'S   WIFE. 


SCENERY. 


Scene  1.  —  Coiners'  Cave.  3  G.  Forge  painted  on  flat,  R.  ii.,  with  bel- 
lows. Opening  painted  in  flat,  L.  ir.,  with  a  ladder  up  to  opening.  An 
old  set  door,  2  e.  l.  h. 

Scene  2.  —  Cottage  flats,  land  2  g.  d.  f.,  practical,  backed  with  screen. 
Window  L.  F.,  practical  and  backed  with  screen.  Sign  over  door,  "  Fox 
and  Goose." 

Scene  3.  —  Oak  flats,  4  g.  Gallery  cross  stage,  L.  to  r.  ir.,  with 
staircase  to  descend  on  R.  H.  2  doors  in  flat,  r.  and  l.,  on  gallery  practi- 
cal. D.  F.  R.  H.,  under  gallery,  practical,  backed  with  plain  interior. 
Lattice  window  c.  flat,  under  gallery,  practical,  open  outwards,  backed 
by  wood.  Curtains  to  window,  practical,  d.  f.  l.  h.,  practical,  backed 
by  wood.     Set  door,  2  e.  l.  h. 


Scene  1.  —  Rustic  landscape,  3  G.     Set  return  rock  and  platform, 

3  E    L.  H. 

Scene  2.  —  Cottage  flats,  as  before,  I. 
Scene  3.  —  Same  as  Scene  3,  Act  1,  4  o. 


PROPERTIES. 


Scene  1.  —  3  g.  Block  of  wood,  with  anvil  on  it,  r.  h.  Stamping 
press,  R.  c.  Hammers.  Gold  Money.  Large  hammers.  Two  crucibles 
on  R.  H.  Small  rough  table  on  R.  H.,  on  it  small  scales  and  weights.  A 
lighted  lamp,  loose  money  in  scales,  and  small  hammer  and  a  piece  of 
tin  money  on  a  small  block  of  iron.  Old  stool  on  R.  ii.  Ladder  against 
flat,  L.  H.     Bellows  handle  rigged  to  work,  r.  ir.  f. 

Scene  2.  —  Portmanteau  containing  small  package  of  letters,  some 
parchments,  and  a  purse  of  money  for  Briarly.  Cloak  and  pair  of  pis- 
tols. Large  drab  coat  for  Penfuddle.  Fuller's  earth  for  Penfuddle, 
&c.,  L.  H. 

Scene  3.  —  4  o.     Large  arm  chair,  front  of  fireplace,  r.  h.  ;  near  it 


4  THE    HOBBER  S    WIPE. 

a  three-le<3;s;ed  stool.  Circular  table,  R.  c. ;  the  top  turns  iipon  a  cen- 
tre, and  covered  with  white  cloth.  One  plain  chair,  L.  C.  Three  insiots 
of  gold  for  Sawne)'.  Large  cloak  hung  up  under  gallery,  R-  of  c.  window. 
Stale  loaf  of  bread,  and  piece  of  mock  cheese  (hollow),  and  a  knife  readj-, 
2  E.  L.  H.,  for  Sawney.  Mug  of  beer,  and  tumbler,  and  one  glass  of  bran- 
dy and  water,  ready,  2  E.  L.,  for  Sawney.  Poker  at  fireplace,  and  fire 
iiscovered  burning,  R.  2  E. 


Scene  1.  —  3  O.,  pocket-book  and  notes  for  Penfuddle.  Knife  (for 
Rody)  and  five  guineas.     Sticks  for  Mouser  and  Tip. 

Scene  2.  —  1  g. 

Scene  3.  —  4  g.,  same  as  Scene  3,  Act  1.  Skeleton  keys  hung  up  un- 
der gallery,  r.  of  window.  Portmanteau,  with  papers  and  purse  of  money 
in  it,  and  two  loaded  pistols  for  Briarly.  Six  guns  and  equipments  for 
soldiers.  D:u-k  lantern  for  Red  Rody.  Four  lighted  torches  for  villa- 
gers. Knife  for  Rody.  Two  loaded  pistols,  sure  fire,  behind  flat,  L.  H., 
and  blood  ready,  d.  f.  l.  h.,  for  Mark.     Shileleh  for  Larry. 


COSTUME. 

Mr.  Briarly  —  Brown  cloth  coat,  single  breasted,  gilt  buttons;  buff 
kerseymere  breeches  ;  black  and  scarlet  striped  waistcoat ;  camlet  cloak. 

Mr.  Penfi'diUe  —  Black  lapelled  coat ;  black  flapped  waistcoat ;  black 
velveteen  breeches  ;  drab  cloth  great-coat. 

Larry  O'Giy — Green  lapelled  coat,  yellow  buttons;  scarlet  double- 
breasted  waistcoat,  metal  buttons  ;  buff  breeches  ;  mixed  beaver  great- 
coat, metal  buttons. 

Mai-k  Redland  —  Brown  serge  jacket,  metal  buttons ;  black  striped 
waistcoat ;  corduroy  breeches  ;  short  drab  gaiters ;  gray  worsted  stock- 
ings. 

Macfile  —  Round  leather  jacket ;  striped  waistcoat ;  drab  serge  breech- 
es ;  check  shirt. 

Red  Rody  —  Brown  serge  coat  and  breeches  ;  striped  serge  waistcoat ; 
check  shirt;  flesh  body ;  black  stockings ;  leather  belt,  with  large  buckle; 
colored  stockings  ;  shoes  and  buckles. 

Drosset  —  Velveteen  jacket;  drab  breeches;  brown  waistcoat;  blue 
worsted  stockings  ;  shoes. 

Smelter  and  Clippem  —  Fustian  jackets  ;  drab  breeches  ;  serge  waist- 
coats. 

Mouser —  Brown  cloth  coat,  metal  buttons  ;  buff  serge  breeches  ;  blue 
striped  waistcoat ;  boots. 

Tip  —  Mixed  country  coat;  red  waistcoat ;  huff  breeches  ;  worsted 
stockings  ;  shoes. 

Rose  Redland — Plain  dark-brown  gown;  gray  stockings ;  black  shoes. 


THE   ROBBER'S   WIFE. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. —  The  Coiners'  Cave,  3  o.;  a  forge,  R.  s.  E.;  an  anvil  and 
a  stamping -2}ress,  R.  C,  with  various  other  implements  ;  a  door  set  in 
a  rough  boarded  partition,  L.  s.  E.;  beams  and  woodwork  above  indi' 
cate  the  loft  of  some  exterior  building.     Music. 

Red  Rodt  discovered,  beating  out  a  plate  of  white  metal ;  Drosset, 
Smelter,  and  Clippem  weighing  base  coin  by  the  light  of  a  lamp. 

Dro.  (Emplging  the  scales.)  All  right  to  a  counter,  and  the  weight 
exact.     But  where  is  Murdock  ? 

Rody.  {Throicing  down  his  hammer.)  I'll  ■work  no  more:  "why 
should  a  man  toil  to  no  end  or  purpose  ? 

Dro.  (L.)  How  now  r  are  you  grumbling  again  ?  Have  a  care  — 
Mark  Murdock's  ears  are  never  far  off. 

Rody.  1  care  not  for  his  ears,  or  my  own  either  :  we  are  starving 
in  the  midst  of  plenty,  as  a  man  may  say,  and  all  for  a  spoonful  of 
yellow  wash,  to  give  the  coin  a  color.  There's  our  wedge  of  gold 
left  yet :  why  not  use  it  ? 

Dro.  What !  kill  the  goose  that  lays  our  golden  eggs  ?  melt  the 
ingot  that  Sawney  Mactile  has  sold  over  and  over,  yet  always  brought 
lack  safe. 

Rody.     I  don't  deny  but  the  fellow  does  his  work  cleverly. 

Dro.  "SVhy,  his  last  trick  brought  us  in  forty  pounds  :  he  fleeced 
the  Irishman  of  his  last  shilling,  and  sent  him  otf,  with  a  lump  of 
brass  instead  of  the  real  stuff. 

Rody.  (L.)  I  grant  'twas  capitally  donev  O,  he's  a  pretty  boy, 
that  Sawney  —  he'll  be  a  gi'eat  man  in  time,  if  he  is  not  hanged, 
poor  fellow.  But  why  doesn't  Murdock  help  us,  when  we  are  at  a 
dead  lift  ? 

Dro.  (R.)  Well,  didn't  he  promise  that  to-night 

Rody.  O,  yes,  —  he  can  promise  as  well  as  the  best ;  but  where 
is  he  i 

Enter  Mark  'R'edza.'sd,  from  a  small  recess  at  the  back. 

Rody.  What  signifies  his  keeping  a  public  house  by  way  of  a 
decoy,  when  he  never  catches  a  customer  worth  plundering  r  He 
had  better  pull  down  his  sign,  sell  all  off,  and  get  rid  of  his  wife. 
(Mark  advances  and  listens.)  Harkee,  lads  :  {They  advance  on  his  R. 
and  L.:)  'tis  my  belief,  that  wife  of  his  suspects  us  of  breaking  into 
1»  (6) 


6  THE    llOBBEll  S    WIFE. 

her  old  guardian's  house  ;  and  if  she  knew  that  'twas  her  husband's 

hand  that  did  the  murd (Catching  s'ujht  of  Mukdock,  l.)   Mur- 

dock  ! 

Mark,  (l.)  Ay,  ruffian,  I  heard  you.  {Crossing  to 'Rodx.')  Look! 
this  is  the  hand,  and  it  has  never  failed  me  :  as  I  have  served  others, 
so  will  I  deal  with  all  who  dare  to  question  the  command  that  you 
yourselves  have  given  me. 

Eodg.     I  don't  dispute  it ;  but well,  well,  I  was  wrong.     I 

get  old  and  fretful,  and  want  to  be  doing  something  that  will  turn 
to  account.     I  ask  your  pardon. 

Mark.  That's  enough  —  I  would  make  friends,  not  enemies ;  wc 
Bhare  or  suffer  alike  ;  but  I  leave  nothing  to  chance. 

Rody.  O,  I  don't  find  fault  with  you  for  clinching  a  business 
well.  The  blow  first,  and  the  word  after —  that's  my  way ;  I  never 
6aw  a  dead  man  mount  a  witness-box  yet.  \_A  whistle  without,  l.  u.  e. 

Mark.^,)  Hark  !  'tis  Macfile, 

Modg.  "What,  Sawney !  I  hope  the  lad  has  caught  another 
gudgeon. 

Mark.  Silence  !  {Crossing  to  Drosset.)  Are  those  pieces  fin- 
ished ? 

Dro.     They  are. 

Mark,     Do  they  Aveigh  and  ring  ? 

Dro.  (R.)  All. 

Itodg.  Trust  me  for  that.  Old  Red  Eody  knows  his  trade  :  one 
good  yellow  boy,  now,  would  make  'em  pass  current,  if  w"e  had  but 
an  ounce  of  gold. 

Mark.     Well,  'tis  on  the  road. 

Dro.     Indeed ! 

Rodg.     What,  travellers  ! 

Mark.     Ay  ;  and  Sawney  for  their  guide. 

Rodg.     What's  to  be  done  with  'em  ? 

Mark.  I'll  think  of  that  when  they're  in  the  ti-ap.  Descend, 
now,  to  the  smithy,  and  be  ready  to  knock  the  rivets  from  their 
horses'  shoes. 

Rodg.     I  Avill — raise  the  door,  lad.     (Tb  Clippem.) 

Mark.  And,  d'ye  hear  r  blow  up  the  fire  quickly,  —  it  will  ac- 
count for  the  smoke  from  that  forge.  Drosset !  (Clippem  raises  a 
trap  near  the  forge,  centre  —  Mark  gives  directions  to  Drosset  aiid 
Smelter,  icho  i-etirc  to  the  back  entrance.) 

Rodg,;    Down  with  you  —  quick. 

Mark.     Remember  my  orders  —  let  me  not  hear  a  whisper. 
Rose.   {Calling  without,  l.  s.  e.)  Mark  ! 

Mark.  W'hat's  that  ?  {Music.  He  makes  a  sign  to  them,  and 
they  disappear  doicn  the  trap,  c,  as  the  door,  L.  s.  e.,  in  the  boarded 
partition,  gentlg  opens.} 

Enter  Rose  Redland,  2  e.  l.;  she  advances  fearfullg ,  gazes  round  at 
the  various  objects,  but  does  not  see  Mark,  icho  approaches  from  th» 
back,  L. 


Rose.  {Sighing  heavilg.)  He  is  not  here. 
Mark.  {Advancing,  R.)  How,  mistress  ! 


TUK    llOhlJEUS    AVIFE.  J 

Rose.  O  !  (^i>(ariinr/.)  Be  not  angiy  —  do  not  bo  angry,  Mark. 
I  came  to  tell  you  of  two  strangers,  travellers 

Mark.     'Sdeath  !  did  they  see  you  ascend  to  the  loft ' 

Bose.     O,  no,  no. 

Mark.     If  this  place  is  discovered  through  your  means 

Rose.     I  guess  —  I  know  the  consequence.     {Looking  roimd.') 

Mark.     Then  why  not  remain  Lclow  and  attend  to  your  guests  ? 

Rose.  It  was  of  that  I  wished  to  speak.  1  have  not  seen  them, 
but  I  hope  they  will  not  be  —  stopped  —  molested  :  what  is  it  you 
intend  ? 

Mark.  The  old  plan  :  make  sure  of  their  arms  and  horses,  and 
then  take  them  on  their  way. 

Rose.     "What  !    more  guilt,  more  bloo ugh  !     {Shuddering.) 

0  Mark  !  when  will  our  measure  be  completed  ? 

Mark.  Pho  !  you  mistake.  I  mean  no  violence  —  but  we  are 
at  our  last  extremity  ;  do  as  I  would  have  you  this  one  night,  and 

1  never  again  will  ask  you  to  serve  me  in  such  a  business. 
Rose.     Never  !  never  again  !     Could  I  believe  this  ! 
Mark.     Here's  my  hand  and  word. 

Rose.  Ah  !  I  have  no  choice  left  but  to  take  it.  The  time  is 
gone  by  when  I  could  have  made  one. 

Mark.  Why  do  j'ou  throw  that  in  my  face  now  ?  Dicbi't  you 
know  who  you  were  marrying,  when  you  took  up  with  me  ? 

Rose.     Yes  ;  but  I  did  not  know  all. 

Mark.  No  ;  you  did  not  know  then  what  a  complete  ruffian  I 
was  ;  you  thought  you  were  only  to  be  the  wife  of  your  father's 
■sworn  enemy  —  he  was  living  then,  remember,  though  absent;  you 
little  thought,  when  you  destroj^ed  his  happiness  by  marrying  me, 
that  you  were  risking  your  own  ;  and  now  you  have  found  it  out, 
you  are  sorry. 

Rose.   {Clasping  her  hands.)  I  am  answered  —  I  deserve  it  all. 

Mark.  Why,  then,  do  you  fret  me  ?  why  drive  me  to  forget  that 
you  are  a  v.-oman  r 

Rose.  O,  do  not,  do  not  be  so  violent :  vou  would  not  hurt  me, 
Mark. 

Mark.  {Subduing  his  passion  toith  effort.')  Come,  come,  Kose  — 
man  and  wife  should  not  quarrel,  though  times  are  changed. 

Rose.  Changed,  indeed  !  our  very  appearance  is  transformed  by 
misery,  almost  as  much  as  our  hearts  are  hardened  by  crime.  No 
contrivance  has  been  left  unpractised  —  our  complexions  stained  - 
our  hair,  too,  dyed,  dark  as  the  trade  we  follow  ;  who  now  would 
recognize  the  once  gay  Mark  Redland  in  Murdock  the  Robber  ?  or 
the  pride  of  the  village,  as  they  used  to  call  me,  poor  Rose  Briarly, 
in  the  robber's  wife  ? 

Mark.  Well,  we  are  the  safer  from  observation  ;  no  one  has  dis- 
covered us,  though  in  the  very  neighborhood  where  we  Avcre  born. 

Rose.  Discover  us  !  If  my  father  was  to  rise  from  his  gi^avo,  he 
A\'ould  not  know  his  own  child. 

Briarly' s  voice  heard  wilhotif,  L.  u.  E.  House,  here,  house  !  what 
the  plague  —  is  there  no  attendance  r  {Rose  gives  a  convulsive  start, 
listening  intently.) 


'8  THE    KOBBER's    "WIFE. 

Marli.  They  are  come  —  we  are  -wanted.  (He  places  a  short  lad- 
der against  the  jiartilion,  and  looJcs  through  an  openiiif/,  L.  U.  E.) 

Rose.  O,  no,  no  —  I  forgot  that  'twas  impossible  —  he  is  dead 
and  gone  ;  my  poor  father  knows  not  what  a  Avretch  1  am  !  I  was 
thinlcing  of  him  —  talking  of  him  —  and  ray  imagination,  my  con- 
science smote  me. 

Mark.  ( IVhile  on  the  ladder.)    Now,  now,  you  may  return  unseen 

—  quick  ! 

Hose.  One  false  step  —  but  one  false  step  —  and  the  curse  of  dis- 
obedience has  been  upon  me  from  that  hour!  (Music;  she  hurries 
through  the  door,  L.  s.  e.,  as  Makk  descends  the  ladder.) 

Scene  II.  —  1  g.;  exterior  of  a  dilapidated  public  house,  the  sign  of 
"  The  Fox  and  Goose  ;  "  stage  light. 

Enter  Mr.  Bk.ia.iilt,  carrying  a  leathern  portmanteau  in  his  hand,fol- 
lozced  by  Sawxey  Macfile,  l. 

Bri.  (l.)  What,  no  fodder  for  the  horses !  here's  a  pretty  busi- 
ness !  by  and  by  you'll  tell  me  there  is  no  supper  for  me,  I  suppose ; 
and  this  you  call  good  entertainment  ibr  man  and  beast  ? 

Saw.     Ees. 

Bri.  (r.)  "Why,  you  rascal !  but  the  fellow's  a  bom  goose,  a  mere 
simpleton.  Kun  and  bid  that  precious  companion  of  mine  to  make 
haste. 

Saw.     Anon ! 

Bri.  The  old  fellow  in  the  cocked  hat,  I  tell  j'ou,  whose  neck 
you  nearly  broke,  leading  over  that  infernal  watercourse  —  I  want 
him. 

Saw.     O,  t'other  gentleman,  as  got  splashed  a  little. 

Bri.  Splashed  a  little  !  smothered,  you  mean  ;  he  was  as  deep  in 
the  mire  as  he  leaves  his  own  clients  —  but  a  lawyer  is  like  a  cat, 
sure  to  find  his  legs. 

Saw.  {Laughing.)  He,  he  !  I  don't  think  his  horse  will  find  his 
legs  in  a  hurry  ;  the  horse  be  more  inclined  to  go  do-\^-n  on  his  knees 
than  the  lawyer  be,  I  take  it. 

Bri.  (Glancing  at  Sawney.)  Is  this  fellow  a  fool  or  a  knave  ?  I 
begin  to  suspect  old  Penfuddle's  tumble  was  something  mere  than 
accident  —  a  trick,  perhaps,  to  detain  us  for  the  good  of  the  house 

—  but  Mr.  Fox  and  Goose  shall  be  disappointed.  (As  Briarly 
turns,  Rose  looks  from  the  window,  L.  F.,  and  retreats  at  a  sign  from 
Sawney.) 

Enter  Me.  Penecddle,  R.,  as  described. 

Saw.     O,  here  comes  lawyer,  sur. 

Bri.  (l.)  And  a  pretty  figtire  he  cuts.  (Penfuddle  crosses  to 
Beiakly.) 

Saw.  (r.)  a  terrible  flop  down,  wan't  it,  sur  ?  But  there's  no 
damage  done. 

Fell,   (c.)  No  damage  ! 

SaiD.     No,  bless  you  ;  'tis  all  clean  dirt. 
P.en.     Clean  dirt,  do  you  call  it .' 


THE    ROBBEH  S    WIFK.  9 

Saw.  Yes  ;  'twill  soon  brush  out :  —  ■why,  the  flaps  are  almost 
dry  now.     {Feellnj  the  skirts  —  aside.)     There's  a  pocket-book. 

Pen.     Get  out,  you  impcrthient  —  how  dare  you  be  so  familiar  ? 

Saw.  ^^^ly,  'twas  no  fault  o'  mine.  Ha'  you  lost  any  thing  ? 
Han't  dropped  your  purse,  ha'  you  ? 

Pen.  My  purse  !  bless  my  soul !  I  hope  not  —  no  joke  to  lose 
forty  pounds  in  notes,  and  live  guineas.  {Feeling  his  pockets.)  Eh  ! 
O,  no,  no  —  'tis  all  right,  young  man. 

Saw.  {Aside.)  Quite  !  forty  pounds  and  five  guineas. 

Bri.  (  Who  has  retired  a  little  up,  untying  his  cloak  and  advancing, 
L.)  Well,  Mr.  Penfuddle,  you  are  always  behind  —  you  and  the 
law  keep  pace  —  get  on  about  as  fast  as  a  suit  in  chancer}'. 

Pen.     I  only  staid,  sir,  to  get  my  horse  rubbed  down,  and 

Bri.  Don't  yon  think  it  would  have  been  as  well  to  have  come 
here,  and  got  rubbed  down  yourself  ? 

Pen.     Why,  upon  second  thoughts,  perhaps  it  might. 

Bri.  {Throwing  his  cloak  over  Saavney's  arin.)  Now,  gawkey,  run 
into  the  house,  and  tell  them  to  lay  out  their  bread  and  cheese. 
{Exit  Sawney  into  the  house.)  You'd  like  a  mouthful,  wouldn't 
you? 

Pen.     Bread  and  cheese  ! 

Bri.  Aj' ;  and  a  glass  of  ale.  A  man  requires  a  bit  and  a  drop 
after  riding  eight  and  thirty  miles  without  stopping  to  bait.  (Pen- 
puddle  stares.)     O,  if  you  think  we  ought  to  get  on,  I'm  ready. 

Pen.  No,  no,  by  no  means  :  upon  second  thoughts,  I'm  of  opin- 
ion that  a  snack  of  bread  and  cheese  will  be  no  bad  thing,  till  sup- 
per can  be  got  ready. 

Enter  Majkr  Redland,  unperceived,  d.  f.,  and  takes  Sawney's  situ- 
ation. 

Bri.     Supper  !  zounds  !  you'll  be  talking  of  a  bed  presently. 

Pen.     And  won't  you  ? 

Bri.  See  their  Fox  and  Goose  on  fire,  first :  no,  no,  a  glass  of 
brandy  and  a  biscuit  will  serve  my  turn.  And  while  you  are  stuff- 
ing yourself,  I'll  take  a  nap  in  some  quiet  corner  —  augh  !  my  old 
bones  begin  to  ache. 

Pen.  (u.)     Begin,  do  they?     Mine  have  ached  these  five  hours. 

Bri.  {Seeing  Mark.)  Hollo!  who  are  you?  Where  did  you 
start  from  ? 

Mark.  {Advancing,  c.)  I  came  to  know  your  pleasure,  gentle- 
•nen.  We  have  comfortable  entertainment,  in  a  small  way.  (Pen- 
puddle  expresses  satisfaction.) 

Bri.  O,  the  master !  Never  saw  such  a  cadaverous,  ill-looking 
—  (M.'VEK  fixes  his  eyes  on  a  leathern  portmanteau,  which  he  attempts 
to  take  up.)  Paws  off!  {Setting  his  own  foot  upon  the  portmanteau.^ 
I  never  part  from  that. 

Mark.  I  beg  pardon  ;  but  it  contains  cash,  perhaps,  or  articles 
of  value  ? 

Bri.  O,  it  is  not  for  the  value  of  the  thing  ;  but  it  once  belonged 
to  a  poor  girl  that  I — psha  !  what  the  devil  business  have  you  to 
prj'  into  my  affairs  ?     (Mark  sh-ugs,  and  turns  to  Penfuddle.) 


10  THE    robber's    ■wife. 

Pen.  {Taking  off  his  coat.)  O,  here,  llr. — Mr.  Fox,  may  I 
trouble  you  ?  {Givinrj  his  great-coat.)  In  a  sad  pickle,  isn't  it  r  and 
nev.-  on  only  last  week  —  what  a  pity  ! 

Mark.  It  shall  be  taken  care  of.  Pistols  !  (Mark  starts  at  see- 
ing Briarly  with  a  brace  of  pistols,  which  he  has  taken  from  a  side 
pocket.) 

Bri.  (t.)  Pistols !  ay,  pistols.  Why,  you  stare  as  if  you  never 
saw  such  things  before. 

Mark,  (c.)  Never  on  this  road,  sir.  Travellers  are  too  scarce  to 
encourage  highwaymen  to  frequent  it.  (Sawney  makes  a  sign  from 
the  roindoio.)  Will  it  please  you  walk  in  —  all  is  prepared  for  your 
reception. 

Bri.  Well,  we'll  follow  you,  then.  {Exit  Mark  Redeaxd  into 
the  house,  after  glancing  at  Briarly  a7id  the  2}ortmanieau.)  I  tell  you 
what,  Peniudille ;  I  neither  like  the  fox  nor  the  goose,  there.  They 
may  be  very  good  sort  of  people,  but  I'm  determined  to  proceed  ; 
it's  only  ten  miles  farther ;  so,  if  the  nags  are  done  up,  we'll  e'en 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter,  and  stump  it. 

Pen.  (r.)  O,  lord !  stump  it,  indeed  !  Now,  my  dear  Mr. 
Bri 

Bri.  Silence  !  no  name  —  not  a  word  of  who  I  am,  or  what  I 
am.  'Tis  many  years  since  I  was  in  this  part  of  the  world  ;  be  quiet, 
and  I  shall  hear  more  news  of  myself  in  ten  minutes  than  otherwise 
I  may  in  ten  months.  Come  along,  old  companion.  {Taking  7tp  the 
portmantedu.)  I  dare  say  now,  you  think  this  is  stuffed  with  all  my 
earnings  abroad.  No  such  matter  ;  but  I  still  value  it  dearly.  It 
used  to  bump  on  the  back  of  an  old  Galloway,  when  my  daughter 
went  visiting.  It  was  once  hers,  and  it  has  pillowed  my  head  ever 
since  we  parted.  Ah,  have  I  a  daughter  now  ?  {He  sighs,  and 
fixes  his  eyes  upon  it  in  deep  thought.) 

Pen.  {Apart.)  O,  my  legs,  my  legs !  if  he  gets  on  his  family  story 
now,  I  shall  drop.  But  he  shall  pay  for  it ;  I'll  run  him  up  a  rous- 
ing bill. 

Bri.  {Apart,  to  himself.)     What  a  rascal ! 

Pen.     Eh  ? 

Bri.     An  ungrateful,  flinty  heart  —  avaricious  scoundrel. 

Pen.     Those  arc  hard  words,  sir,  very  hard  words  ;  and  actionable. 

Bri.     Doesn't  he  deserve  them  ? 

Pen.     He  !  who  ? 

Bri.  Who  r  why,  that  villain,  Redland  ;  who  first  stole  my  prop- 
erty, and  then  wanted  to  rob  me  of  my  daughter. 

Pen.     O  !  ay  —  Redland  —  yes  —  that's  all  right. 

Bri.  But  he  cfime  to  a  bad  end  at  last.  What  has  been  my  poor 
daughter's  fate,  or  that  of  the  poor  old  man  in  whose  care  I  left  her, 
I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  discover. 

Pen.     Don't  you  think  we  had  better  talk  of  this  within? 

Bri.  No ;  'tis  a  cursed  long,  melancholy  story,  and  you'll  enjoy 
It  here,  where  wo  are  not  overheard ;  it  won't  take  above  three 
quarters  of  an  hour. 

Pen.  Mr.  Briar —  I  beg  pardon,  sir.  Curse  me  if  I'd  hear  any 
man  state  a  case,  till  I've  had  my  natural  food  and  rest,  to  be  made 
Lord  Chancellor  of  England  ;  flc-ih  and  blood  can't  Stand  it. 


TnE  noBUEu's  wife.  11 

Bri.  No,  but  j'ou  are  all  bone  and  skin.  Well,  well,  in  with 
.you ;  upon  second  thoughts,  as  you  say,  I'll  take  chamber  counsel. 

[Excioit,  D.  F. 

Scene  III.  —  Inferior  of  the  Inn;  a  fireplace,  R.  s.  e.,  a  door,  L.  2 
•  E.  A  large  arm  chair  stands  before  the  fire,  but  soiled  and  torn,  near 
it  n  wooden  siool,  n.  c.  ;  a  circular  library  table,  c,  a  sir aic -bottomed 
ch/iir  iiear  it ;  a  large  windoic,  l.  f.,  a  door  on  each  side  of  it ;  a  largo 
open  passage  or  gallery  runs  above  the  doors  and  tcindow,  and  the  foot 
of  the  stair  which  leads  to  it  is  seen  on  the  R.,  beyond  the  fireplace. 
The  ichole  exhibits  a  mixture  of  wretchedness  and  decayed  finery, 

Saavxey  Macfile  discovered,  placing  bread  and  cheese  on  the  table. 
Enter  Mark  Redlaxd,  conducting  in  Mr.  Buiauly  and  Me.  Pex- 

FUDDLE,  D.  F.  L.  n. 

Mark.  {Crossing  to  n.)  This  way,  gentlemen.  (Aside  to  Sx^vs'EY.) 
Are  you  ready  ?  (Sawney  shows  a  lump  of  shining  metal,  and  re- 
turns it  to  his  breast  as  Briarly  comes  in.) 

Bri.  Humph!  (Looking  round.)  Here's  a  pretty  specimen,  now, 
of  a  decayed  country  inn.  (  Turns  the  table,  which  moves  on  its  cen- 
tre.) A  table  that  might  serve  a  justice  of  the  peace,  (Crossing  to 
c.,)  and  a  rush-bottomed  chair  not  fit  for  an  old  washerwoman. 
These  people  have  seen  better  days,  I  fancy.  Here,  again,  an  arm 
chair,  that,  when  it  was  new,  Avouldn't  have  disgraced  the  Lord 
Mayor  of  London,  and  a  three-legged  stool.  What  a  mixture  of 
dirt  and  diamonds!  But  here  I  anchor.  (Throws  the poi-tnianteau  at 
the  foot  of  the  stool,  L.  c.)     It  will  suit  me  exactly. 

Pen.  This  will  suit  me  better.  I'll  enter  an  action  against  this 
bread  and  cheese,  forthwith. 

Mark.     Sawney,  take  the  gentleman's  coat  and  hat. 

Bri.     And,  d'ye  hear  ?  bring  me  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water. 

Mark.  (Aside.)     Mix  it  well. 

Pen.  (Sitting  in  the  rush-bottomed  chair,  R.  pf  the  table.)  A  mug 
of  good  ale  for  me,  and  let  it  be  mild.  (Sawney  nods,  and  exit, 
L.  2  E.)  My  throat  is  as  dry  as  a  barrister's  brief,  and  as  to  my 
stomach,  'tis  as  empty  as  the  courts  in  long  vacation. 

Bri.  (Seating  himself  in  the  chair,  R.,  over  the  back  of  which  he 
throics  his  cloak.)  Lay  you  there,  my  jolly  boys.  (Placing  his  pistols 
on  the  stool.) 

Mark,  (l.,  eying  the  movement.)  To  remove  tlicm  must  be  Rose's 
task  ;  he'll  not  suspect  her. 

Pen.  (Striving  to  cut  the  bread.)  Bless  my  heart !  this  loaf  is  very 
stale. 

Reenter  Sawnet  Macfile,  l.  2  e.     He  places  a  jug  before  Pen- 
fuddle,  and  takes  the  brandy  and  icater  to  Briarly.     As  Sawney 

passes,  Mark  points  to  the  pistols,  and  he  attempts  to  remove  them 

while  Briarly  drinks. 

Bri.  Pah !  confoundedly  strong.  Leave  those  crackers  alone, 
you  dog. 


X3  THE  Robber's  "wrFE. 

Saw.     1  vrere  onlj'  making  room  for  the  brandy  and  water. 

Bri.  {Throxoing  the  remains  ijito  tlie  grate.)  I've  done  with  it ;  a 
little  of  that  goes  a  great  way.     Off  with  you,  and  don't  disturb  me. 

Pen.  And  off  with  this  bread  and  cheese ;  they  are  as  hard  af 
flint  and  steel  —  you  may  strike  a  light  with  them. 

Saw.  (l.,  aside  to  Mark.)     He's  too  sharp. 

Mark.  (^Aside  to  Sawney.)  Never  mind,  there's  time  enough. 
(^Aloud.)  The  lad  will  attend  to  you,  sir ;  I  must  look  to  j-oui 
horses.  [Exit  Mark,  l.  d 

Pen.  Now,  only  see;  (^Turning  the  cheese,  which  appears  a  mere 
shell.)  it  would  turn  the  teeth  of  a  stone  eater. 

S.tw.     We  never  had  ony  complaints  afore. 

Pen.  Ah,  that's  the  old  answer,  go  where  you  will !  Drat  tlio 
cheese  !     (Pexfuddle,  with  an  effort,  breaks  a  piece  off.) 

Sato.  It  be  all  we  got  in  the  house  ;  so  an  you  don't  loike  it,  I 
can't  mend  it. 

Pen.  Not  mend  it  ?  I  think  you  could,  with  a  hammer  and  nail. 
(Begins  to  scrape  it  and  eat.)  So,  you  are  waiter  and  guide,  and  a 
sort  of  jack  of  all  work,  eh  ? 

Saw.  Yees.  (Pouring  out  beer.)  I  find  it  mortal  hard  to  make 
a  bit  o'  bread. 

Pen.  I  find  your  bread  mortal  hard,  when  you  have  made  it,  if 
this  is  a  sample. 

Saw.  (Aside.)  Now's  my  time.  (Glancing  at  Briarly,  toho  is 
dozing,  and  crossing  to  c,  behind  Penfuddle.)  I  say,  mister,  do  you 
know  ony  thing  about  fossils,  and  minerals,  and  such  loike  ? 

Pen.  O  !  what,  you  make  a  bit  o'  bread  that  way,  do  you  ? 
sell  curiosities  and  take  in  the  flats  ? 

Saw.  (Grinning.)     Yees,  sumtoimes. 

Pen.  But  you'll  not  take  me  in,  though  ;  I'm  a  flat  catcher  my- 
self, one  of  the  trade. 

&110.  Are  you  ?  by  gom,  then,  you  can  tell  me  the  rights  o'  this, 
mayhap.     (Showing  an  ingot.)     Nothing  but  brass,  be  it  r 

Pen.  Gold  !  (Rising  in  astonishment.)  an  ingot  of  pure  gold,  as 
I'm  a  lawyer. 

Bri.  (r.,  dozing.)  Ah,  gold,  gold !  that  fellow  could  never 
resist  it. 

Pen.  (li.)  Eh!  O!  (Turning  to  Briarly,  makes  the  motion  of 
sleeping,  gives  a  snort,  and  addresses  Sawxey.)  Where  did  you 
find  it  r 

Sato,   (c.)     What,  it  be  gold  ? 

Pen.  No,  no  ;  upon  second  thoughts,  I'm  of  opinion  'tis  a  very 
fine  specimen  of  copper  ore — (Apart.)  worth  fifty  pounds  if  it's 
worth  sixpence.  As  a  curiosity,  I  can  afford  to  give  a  —  a  few  shil- 
Imgs  for  it. 

Bri.   (Still  sleeping.)     O,  the  scoundrel ! 

Saw.     1  say,  didn't  you  hear  gentleman  speak  to  you  ? 

Pen.  Speak  to  me,  indeed  r  no  —  come  a  little  this  way.  This 
gold  —  I  mean  copper  —  is  not  the  produce  of  this  country ;  where 
did  you  get  it  ? 

Saio.  O,  I  were  grabbling  and  routing  in  some  old  ruins  and  — 
but  tha'  ■  'cUinss. 


THE    robber's    tVIFB.  li 

Pen.  (i.  Aside.)   Stole  it,  I  haven't  a  doubt. 

Saw.     I   might   trust   you,  mayhap,  but   then   this  other  chap 
: Pointing  to  Biuahly.) 

Pen.  O,  he's  fast  enough  —  well,  I'll  give  you  a  guinea  for  it; 
there  now. 

Saw.  A  guinea  !  (^Snaic/ies  it,  Imighing.)  ha,  ha,  ha  !  I'm  sure 
it  be  gold  now. 

Pen.  (  Turnitig  aside.)  Rot  it !  I've  ruined  the  market  by  bidding 
too  high. 

Saw.  (Rapidlg  puts  the  ingot  in  his  breast,  and  takes  a  counterpart 
of  brass  from  his  pocket.)  Yet  I  can't  expect  to  sell  it  for  full  vally. 

Pen.     Why  so  ? 

Saw.  I  should  have  lord  o'  the  manor  upon  me,  wi'  a  plague  to 
'un,  and  his  rights  and  loyalties,  and  I  might  get  nothing  for  my 
trouble  but  a  night's  lodging  in  county  jail. 

Pen.     That's  very  true. 

Saw.     So,  if  you  be  content  to  buy  it  for  old  brass 

Pen.     I  am,  at  brass  price. 

Bri.  (^Dreaming  still.)  llapacious  villain  !  I  said  he'd  come  to  be 
hanged. 

Pen.  Bless  my  heart !  he  has  got  the  ugliest  way  of  talking  in 
his  sleep  that 

Bri.  (Waking.)  Augh  !  (^Yawns.)  Why  the  devil  do  you  keep 
such  a  clatter  ?  I  thought  you  were  making  your  last  dying  speech. 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  wake  me  out  of  such  pleasant  dreams.  {After 
stirring  the  fire,  and  looking  at  his  j^islols,  lie  throios  a  pocket  handker- 
chief over  his  face,  and  resumes  his  nap.) 

Pen.  {Eagerli/  to  Sawney.)  At  a  word,  two  guineas. 

S-aw.     Nay,  I  mun  ha'  foive.     {Apart.)     I  know  he's  got  five. 

Pe7i.  Well,  you  are  a  greedy  dog  ;  but,  upon  second  thoughts, 
there  they  are. 

Saw.  {Taking  the  money.)  And  there's  the  ingot.  (Pexfuddle 
crosses  to  c.)     But  'tis  only  brass,  you  know. 

Pen.     I  understand  —  lord  of  the  manor  —  waifs  and  strays. 

Saw.     Put  it  up  —  don't  let  any  body  see  it- 

Pen,  (  Winking  and  nodding.)  I'm  awake. 

Saw.     Brass,  mind  —  nought  but  brass,  sur.    [Exit  Sawnet,  l.  d. 

Pen,  Never  fear, —  come,  this  will  make  up  for  all  my  losses  and 
crosses.  (Briarly  snores.)  A  very  odd  man,  that  client  of  mine 
—  rich  as  a  Jew,  and  yet  Avon't  travel  like  a  gentleman  —  has  been 
abroad  many  years,  and,  after  every  body  thinks  him  dead  and 
buried,  he  drops,  as  it  were,  from  the  clouds,  and  brings  mc,  on  a 
i.'ursed  tumble-down  hack,  to  swear  that  he's  not  his  own  ghost. 

Enter  Hose  Redland,  l.  d.  f.,  in  the  gallery ;  she  pauses,  advances 
softly  along  the  passage  from  L.  to  R.,  descends  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
and  advances  slo^cly  to  c. 

Pen.   {Sitting  down  at  the  table,  and  taking  itp  his  glass.)    Well, 
■^re's  the  glorious  uncertainty,  as  we  say.     I  expected  nothing  but 
•  !»agreeables,  and  here  I  meet  with  a  —  (Seeing  Rose.)     Dear  me  ! 
lope  she  h'.sn't  been  peeping  and  listening.  , 

2  ^    J 


W  THE    KOBBER's    ■n'IFE. 

Rose.  (Gaziiiij  at  Penvuudle.)  No,  no,  it  is  not  him. 

Pen.  1  declare,  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  me  as  if  she'd  search  iiit® 
my  very  —  pocket.     {liisesfrom  the  table,  and  advances,  l.) 

Rose.  {Aside,  lookuirj  at  the ^yistols.)  I  must  attempt  it.  {To  Pen- 
fuddle.)     May  I  remove  those  things  ?     {Pointincj  to  the  table,  c.) 

Pe7i.  O,  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Fox  —  yes,  you  may  take  away,  but 
don't  disturb  that  gentleman. 

Rose.     Gentleman  !  he  is  not  your  servant,  then  ? 

Pen.  No,  I  am  his  sei"ant  for  the  time  being  —  his  man  of  busi- 
ness ;  so  I'll  just  go  and  see  how  they  have  doctored  that  brute  that 
threw  me  in  the  mud.  He'll  settle  your  small  account,  {Aside.') 
and  ray  large  one,  too,  or  I'll  know  a  reason  why.  [Exit,  l.  d. 

■  Rose.  Now,  while  all  are  absent  —  yet,  should  he  awake,  what 
subterfuge,  Avhat  falsehood,  have  I  to  screen  ray  purpose  ?  It  mat- 
ters not ;  any  lie,  to  avoid  the  last  desperate  resource.  {She  treahs 
cautiousltj  toioards  the  2}istols,  and  sees  the  portmanteau.)  Gracious 
heaven  !  {Draicincj  it  genthj  aioatj.)  Can  it  be  ?  Surely  I  know 
that  —  {Drojijiing  on  her  knees  to  examine  it.)  —  the  buckles  —  the 
straps  —  and  yet  so  many  years  have  passed —  I  must  not  trust  to 
recollection  while  ray  thoughts  are  so  excited  —  but  then  the  voice ! 
this  corroborating  proof —  O,  heaven  !  if  it  should  —  {She  gradually 
turns  her  eyes  on  Buiarly.)  I  must,  I  vAW  —  this  suspense  is  hor- 
rible. {She  approaehes  Beiaiily  step  by  step  in  great  agitation  ;  with 
a  trembling  hand  she  draics  the  handkerchief  from,  hisfaee,  shrieks,  and 
starts  back,  covering  her  eyes  with  both  hands ;  Briarly  springs  up, 
and  grasps  his  pistols.) 

Bri.  (r.)  Ah,  what's  that  ?  who  called  ?  A  woman  !  speak  ! 
"What  has  happened  ?  who  are  you  ? 

7Jo.se.  (i..)  Do  not,  do  not  inquire  that  —  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir  — 
I  would  not  have  disturbed  you,  if  I  could  have  helped  it  —  but 
'tis  my  infirmity  when  I  see  those  in  my  wretchedness  that  I  have 
Sf-en  in  happier  days. 

Bri.     You  know  me,  then  ? 

Rose.     O,  yes  ;  but  I  thought  —  every  body  thought 

Bri.  That  I  was  dead  and  buried  long  since.  O,  then,  I  do  not 
wonder  at  your  surprise,  my  good  woman ;  but  you  have  rather  a 
noisy  way  of  expressing  it. 

Rose.  Try  to  sleep  again  —  do,  try  and  take  more  rest.  I'll  sit 
at  the  threshold  of  your  door  myself,  and  watch  you  —  the  footsteps 
of  the  mouse  shall  not  disturb  you,  and  I'll  not  cry  out  again  if  my 
heart  is  on  fire. 

Bri.  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  young  woman  !  but  how  have  I  de- 
served this  kindness  from  you  r  There  was  once  a  young  and  gen- 
tle creature  who  proffered  all  these  kind  attentions  in  much  the 
same  words;  but  she  neglected  and  forgot  me  —  poor  Rose  !  if  you 
know  me,  you  may  remember  her. 

Rose.  I  do,  I  do  —  but  you  must  not  speak  —  you  must  not 
think  of  her  now. 

Bri.     Not  think  of  her  !     Why  not  ? 

Rose.  Her  story  is  almost  tlic  counterpart  of  mine,  and  it  makes 
my  heart  ache. 


I 


THE    IIOBBEU'3    WIFE.  If 

Bri.     Where  is  she  now  ? 

Rose.     No  one  knows. 

Bri,     Were  you  iu  her  confidence  ? 

Rose.  O,  yes  ;  her  dearest  friend  once  ;  but  marriage  severs  tho 
dearest  tics —  she  is  now  married  —  do  you  remember  a  young  man 
(^With  great  agitation.)  called  —  called  Iledland  ? 

Bri.  (u.)  The  villain  !  the  ruffian  who  herded  with  the  vilest  of 
the  vile  —  why  speak  of  him?  My  daughter,  the  bright -haired, 
blue- eyed  pride  of  the  village,  was  good  and  dutiful  —  she  knew 
my  detestation  of  that  man  —  I  bade  her  renounce  him  as  she  val- 
ued her  own  happiness  and  my  blessing  —  she  promised  she  would 
do  so.  O,  my  child  was  all  innocence  and  truth,  and  never  to  her 
dear  father  would  have  broken  her  word. 

Base,  (l.)  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that  —  I  knew  her  better  than 
you  did  —  the  man  of  whom  you  speak  escaped  from  a  convict 
ship  —  returned,  and,  in  her  father's  absence,  wooed  and  won  her. 

Bri.     What !  Hose  !  married  Hose  !  impossible  ! 

Rose.  Why  should  you  suppose  your  child  wiser,  better,  and 
more  obedient  than  others  ?  My  father  was  proud  of  me,  too  —  a 
kind,  good  father  he  was  ;  yet  I  married  the  very  man  he  most  de- 
tested. When  he  was  abi«ad,  endeavoring  to  retrieve  a  shattered 
fortune  for  my  sake,  I  left  my  home,  abandoned  friend,  father  — 
all  —  never  even  wrote  to  him  —  I  dared  not  write ;  think  of  that 
—  parted,  O,  could  you  believe  it  ?  parted  without  so  much  as  say- 
ing, "  Father,  God  bless  you  !  "  and  now,  in  the  dead  of  the  win- 
ter's night,  when  the  rain  beats  upon  the  thatch,  and  the  wind 
howls,  I  see  him  in  my  dreams,  as  distinctly  as  I  see  you  now,  and 
I  hear  his  voice  as  plainly  as  I  hear  yours,  upbraiding,  cursing. 

Bri.  What !  come,  come,  woman  —  a  father's  heart  is  not  so 
stubborn,  nor  his  offended  spirit  so  unforgiving,  as  you  believe  it. 
How  dare  you  think  so  hardly  of  a  parent,  as  to  suppose  he  could 
reject  his  only  child  ? 

Rose.  Would  you  pity  your  daughter,  then  ?  would  you  indeed  ? 
would  you  forgive  her?  O,  tell  me  how  you  would  act,  and  that 
will  give  me  comfort. 

Bri.  (^Starlinff.)  Comfort  j-ou  !  you  !  merciful  heaven !  (Rttsh- 
ing  towards  her,  gazing  intently,  and  parting  tho  hair  on  her  forehead.) 
Let  me  look  upon  you  —  O,  no  !  her  hair  was  auburn,  yours  dark. 
(Pttiwe.)     No,  I  am  satisfied  —  she  is  not  my  child. 

Rose.  Will  you  not  ansAver  me  ?  Suppose  your  daughter  had 
served  you  as  I  have  served  my  father  —  that  she  came  to  your  door, 
imploring  pity  and  forgiveness  —  would  you  shut  it  with  a  curse 
iipon  her  face,  or  would  you  bless  her  ?  (Briaiily  groans.')  O, 
you  would  —  you  •\\ould  —  I  am  sure  you  would. 

Bri,  All  else  I  might  forgive  ;  but  if  she  had  married  the  villain 
Iledland,  never  ! 

Rose,     O  !     {She  faints  in  the  chair,  C,  ■partly  resting  on  the  table.) 

Bri.  Ah,  she  is  struck  to  the  heart  !  Without,  there  !  help  ! 
house,  house  !  (He  raises  her  as  he  speaks ;  music,  as  the  act-drop  de- 
Kends.) 


THE    aoBBEK  8    WirE. 


ACT    II. 


Scene  I.  —  2  g.    The  Inn  and  Farriery  seen  in  perspective  on  the  roadf 
which  toinds  between  hilly  crags. 

Enter  Mark  Red  land  and  Rody,  l.  2  e. 

Mark,  (ii.)  Now,  Rody,  is  it  done  ?  is  all  sure  ?  The  old  man 
persists  in  setting  forward. 

Rody.  (l.)  Off  with  him,  then  —  there's  not  a  shoe  on  his  horse's 
feet  that  will  hold  ten  minutes.  I  have  filed  the  heads  of  the  stubs, 
and  you'll  have  him  on  the  crag  road  as  helpless  as  a  baby.  Have 
you  got  his  pistols  ? 

Mark,     No  —  my  wife  will  take  c^re  of  them. 

Rody.  Your  wife !  humph !  you'd  better  take  care  of  them 
yourself. 

Mark.  No  fear  of  her ;  besides^  this  business  must  be  done  with- 
out noise,  if  his  companion  will  part  from  his  money  quietly. 

Rody.     What,  he  i'  the  cocked  hat  ?  bless  you,  he's  done  already 

—  look,  here's  five  bright  goldfinches.  {Giving  the  money.')  The 
lad  Sawney  bled  him  as  easy  as  a  sucking  pig. 

Mark.  That's  something,  but  not  enough  for  our  necessities  :  the 
old  man's  wallet  is  our  mark  —  we  have  a  desperate  game  to  play. 
That  last  job  with  the  Irishman  has  awakened  suspicion  ;  old  stories 
are  ripped  up,  and  laid  together  ;  they  talk  of  the  quantity  of  base 
coin  in  circulation  —  the  plunder  of  I3riarly  House,  and  the  —  the 
accident  that  happened  there  to  my  wife's  guardian.  Stubborn 
fool  !  he  might  have  been  alive  now,  but  for  his  obstinate  resistance. 

Rody.  Let  such  another  accident  happen  now  —  make  all  safe  , 
if  you'll  leave  it  to  me,  there  shall  be  no  talking  about  this  job. 

Mark.  No  —  unless  they  discover  and  resist  us,  not  a  blow  must 
be  struck.  I  have  been  on  the  scout,  and  find  we  are  suspected  — 
the  officers  of  justice  are  on  the  watch,  ojid  a  guard  of  soldiers  are 
assembled  at  the  village,  to  assist  the  magistrates. 

O' Gig.  (^Without,  ii.  u.  e.)  Och,  botheration  and  blunders  !  come 
along  wid  yourselves  —  sure,  I  know  the  road  as  well  as  I  know  the 
road  to  Donnybrook. 

Mark.  Hark  !  the  cry  is  up  —  'tis  the  very  man,  and  two  con- 
stables. 

Rody.  Constables !  (^Drawing  a  knife.)  I'll  give  'em  their 
change. 

Mark.  Not  for  yoiir  life.  Collect  the  gang,  and  wait  my  orders 
i'  the  cave  behind  the  loft.     I  must  seek  Macfile. 

[Exeunt  Mauk,  r.,  Rody,  l. 

Enter  O'Gig,  followed  by  ?iIouser  and  Tip,  e.  2  E. 

O'Gig.   (Laughing.)    Ha,  ha!    here  we  are,  all  right  and  tight 

—  there's  the  farrier's  shop  and  the  beggarly  inn,  cheek  by  jowl, 
Diciii't  I  tell  you  I'd  swallow  fox,  goose,  and  all,  if  I  couldn't 
find  'em  ? 

Moic.  Are  you  certain  that  'twas  on  this  spot  you  were  plun- 
dcfred } 


THE    KOBBEU'S    TVIFE.  17 

Cf  ~i(T'  (c.)  Sartin  as  that  I'm  my  own  father's  son,  •whoever  he 
was.  Och  !  I'll  be  ruined  out  an'  out  intirely,  unless  we  catch  that 
bit  of  a  bla' guard  that  taught  me  the  difference  at-\veen  gould  and 
brass. 

Mou.  You  had  better  be  silent,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  recover  your 
property. 

O' Giij.  And  that's  true  for  you  ;  but  my  tongue  always  runs 
riot  when  I'm  drunk  or  in  distress.  Och  !  I'm  a  misfortunate  indi- 
vidual. I,  Lany  O'Gig,  late  o'  Ballymuck,  in  the  county  Cork, 
long  life  to  myself,  and  now  of  no  place  at  all,  the  worse  luck. 
"\Va.sn't  I  barbarously  waylaid  and  murdered  ten  days  ago  ?  answer 
me  that  ;  and  robbed  I  \\as  of  forty  pounds  by  a  beggarly  spalpeen, 
one  Sawney  Macfile  by  name. 

Mou.  "SVe  shall  have  little  chance  of  taking  him  if  you  proclaim 
o\ir  errand  so  loudly. 

O'Glf/.  Well,  then,  disperse,  disperse  both  of  j'ou,  in  ten  or  a 
dozen  different  ways,  and  keep  a  shaip  lookout.  Here,  now,  I'll 
show  you.  (Retires  tip,  directing  the  ojficers ;  exeitnt,  R.  3  E.;  Saw- 
NEY  watches  tlieir  motions  from  a  crag,  L.  3  e.,  and  withdraws.) 

Enter  Penfuddle,  e.  s.  e. 

Pen.  Why,  where  the  deuce  has  this  guide  of  ours  hid  himself? 
he  vanished  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  into  some  hole  or  other,  when  I 
thought  he  was  close  at  my  elbow.     (Crossing  over  to  the  L.  corner.) 

Reenter  O'Gio,  E.  3  E. 

O'  Gig.  A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  I've  made  of  it,  as  Pat  said,  when 
he  overboiled  the  potatoes,  I'll  never  be  my  own  man  again,  till  I 
get  some  shark  of  a  lawyer  to  help  me  out  of  the  mud. 

Pen.  (Advancing  towards  O'GiG,  L.)  Lawyer  !  I  smell  a  client. 
Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I  think  you  expressed  a  wish  for  legal  assist- 
ance. If  an  honest,  active  attorney  would  be  desirable,  allow  me 
to  offer  my  services. 

O'Gig.  (R.)  Sir,  you  are  mighty  obliging,  and  I  am  your  most 
obsequious  —  but  an  honest  attorney  is  no  match  for  the  devil's  own 
managing  clerk,  and  he  it  is  that  has  got  me  into  his  clutches. 

Pen.  Dear  me  !  you  mention  a  person  of  extensive  practice,  in- 
deed :  he  does  a  great  deal  of  business  in  our  way,  but  I  think  I 
can  match  him. 

O'Gig.  Sir,  you  give  yourself  a  most  excellent  character;  but 
my  affairs  are  in  that  blessed  state  of  confusion,  that  none  but  a 
keen,  hungry,  old  thief,  like  himself,  will  ever  be  a  match  for  ould 
Penfuddle. 

Pen.     Penfuddle ! 

O'Gig.     That  same,  sir  ;  do  you  know  him  ? 

Pen,  Yes,  sir  —  no  —  that  is,  I  have  heard  of  him  ;  but  this  ia 
defamation,  sir  —  an  action  will  lie. 

O'Gig.  Never  mind  that ;  only  wait  till  I  get  a  vacancy  at  Mas- 
ter Penfuddle,  and  see  how  fond  my  shilelah  will  be  of  his  shoul- 
ders. 

Pe«.  Zooks  !  if  I  had  but  a  witness,  this  would  be  a  better  job 
2* 


18  THE  uobbek's  wipe. 

than  t'other.  iSh-,  I'd  adA'ise  you  to  be  a  httle  more  cautious  how 
you  slander  *^he  profession  :  Mr.  Penfuddle  has  always  been  consid- 
ered a  mau  jf  unsullied  integrity. 

O'  Gig.  Ah  I  so  was  poor  Pat  Mahony,  till  one  fine  morning  he 
happened  to  be  found  out  —  so  he  treated  the  hangman  to  a  day's 
pay  and  a  suit  of  clothes.  Och  !  there's  blackguards  in  every  pro- 
fession ;  so  don't  put  yourself  in  a  pucker,  and  I'll  tell  you  the 
whole  story  in  a  breath. 

Pen.     Well,  sir  —  speak  out !     I  may  trap  him  yet. 

O'Gig.  You  must  know,  sir,  I  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse, 
and  as  happy  as  a  crown  prince,  till  this  fellow  smothered  me  with 
good  luck,  and  ruined  me,  horse  and  foot. 

Pen.     What  !  Mr.  Penfuddle  ! 

O'Gig.  Och!  he's  the  biggest  rogue  that  ever  spoiled  parch- 
ment :  wrote  me  a  long  history  about  a  cock  and  a  bull,  and  one 
Mr.  Briarly. 

Pen.     Briarly  !  why,  then,  your  name  is 

O'Gig.  Larry  O'Gig  —  you're  right ;  but  don't  interrupt  me,  or 
I'll  be  all  buz  !  He  tould  me  this  old  Briarly  w^as  gone  dead,  his 
daughter  not  to  be  found,  and  that  I,  though  a  distant  relation, 
being  nearest  o'  kin,  Avas  heir-at-law.  A  blundering  baste  !  as  if 
an  Irishman,  bred  and  born,  could  ever  be  cousin-german  to  an 
Englishman.  Well,  sir,  I  sent  every  thing  to  rack  and  manger ; 
borrowed  forty  odd  pounds  of  a  friend,  on  the  strength  of  some  bit 
o'  pigs  I  sould  him,  and  over  I  came. 

Pen.  Ay,  to  take  possession  of  Mr.  Briarly's  property  —  a  very 
pleasant  expedition,  I  should  have  thought. 

O'  Gig.  Och  !  mighty  pleasant.  Sir,  I  hadn't  taken  possession, 
as  you  call  it,  ten  minutes,  before  the  scoundrel  sent  me  another 
letter,  saying  that  ould  Briarly  had  the  impertinence  to  come  to  life 
again,  and  that  I  might  trundle  myself  back  to  ould  Ireland,  neck 
and  crop. 

Pen.  And  how  was  poor  Mr.  Penfuddle  to  blame  ?  He  couldn't 
take  the  law^  into  his  own  hands. 

O'Gig.  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  mane  to  take  the  law  into  my  o'wn 
hands,  and  this  bit  of  a  switch  into  the  bargain  ;  and  if  ever  I  catch 
Mr.  Penfuddle,  all  alone  by  himself,  widout  witnesses,  by  the  pow- 
ers, I'll  crack  every  bone  in  the  ugly  body  of  him  ! 

Pen.  ( Wiping  his  forehead^  and  getting  aioay,  L.)  Bless  my  soul, 
the  very  idea  puts  me  in  a  perspiration  !  but  pray  don't  be  impetu- 
ous. Upon  second  thoughts,  I'll  be  answerable  that  Mr.  Penfuddle 
will  make  good  all  your  expenses,  out  of  the  estate,  upon  condition 
that  you  give  it  iip,  without  takmg  the  law  into  your  own  hands. 

O'Gig.  O,  burn  the  estate!  Who's  to  make  good  the  forty 
pounds  on  the  beautiful  bits  o'  pigs,  that  I've  been  palavered  out  of  ? 

Pen.     Bubbled  out  of  forty  pounds  !     Pray,  sir,  explain. 

O'Gig.  Devil  tire  me,  if  I'm  not  ashamed  to  tell  you  :  a  fellow 
mat  called  himself  a  guide  hereabout  —  bad  luck  to  him  !  —  with  a 
long  tarradiddle  about  grubbing  in  ould  ruins,  and  goulden  ingots, 
and  rights  and  royalties  —  och!  'twas  all  botheration  and  blarney 
—  I  never  was  so  clane  done  in  my  life. 


TK!',    UOIiBEK's    WIFE.  19 

Pen.     Sir  !  Mr.  O'Gig  !   :lid  you  say  that 

O'Glf).  Yes,  sir,  exactly  —  and  he  a  mere  natural;  you'd  havo 
thought  butter  wouldn't  niclt  in  his  dirty  mouth,  and  all  the  while 
the  cunning  devil  mi;i,Iit  have  cheated  ould  rcnfuddle  himself. 

Pen.  1  hope  not ;  ])hew  !  dear  inc,  how  warm  the  weather  is  ! 
(JitHS  himself  with  his  hat.)  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  com- 
mitted a  fraud  ? 

O'  Giij.  What !  not  when  he  bamboozled  me  out  of  forty  pounds 
for  such  trash  as  this  ?  {t>hoics  a  wedge  of  metal,  at  which  Penfud- 
DLE  stares  in  dis/nai/.) 

Pen.     Bless  my  eyesight !  'tis  very  like 

O'Gig.     Like  as  one  brass  button  is  to  another. 

Pen.     Then  you  think  it  is  not  gold. 

O'  Gig.  Gould  !  Just  the  same  gould  that  the  copper  kettles  are 
made  of,  and  d — n  the  bit  more.  (Penfuddle  groans,  and  turns 
up,  c,  clasping  his  hands.") 

Sawney  appears,  descending  the  crag,  e.  3  e.,  and  advances,  as  O'Gio 
2}uts  tip  his  ingot. 

O'Gig.     The  lump  intire  wouldn't  sell  for  a  fipenny  ! 

Sate.  (Apart.)  A  desperate  chance  —  but  I  must  risk  it,  or  "we 
shall  have  them  all  upon  us  at  once.  (Coming  down  between  them.) 
Ah,  there  you  are. 

O'Gig.  (s,.  Seeing  Sawxet.)  Eh  !  by  the  tear  in  my  eye,  I  have 
him. 

Saw.  (c.)  Wherr  !  wherr  !  ( Turning  to  Penfuddle.")  That's 
the  very  chap,  sure  enough —  I'm  glad  to  see  you  here  again,  sir. 

O'Gig.     Faith  !  then  I  can  return  the  compliment,  my  little  man. 

Saw.  Thank  you,  sir  —  thank  you  kindly  ;  I  thought  you'd  nnd 
the  fellow  out  at  last. 

Pe}i.  (l.  Seeing  Sawxey.)  O,  you  villain  !  O,  you  swindling 
scoundrel ! 

Saio.  There  !  now  he  wants  to  lay  all  his  tricks  on  a  poor  inno- 
cent lad  like  me. 

Pen.     Innocent,  you  dog  !     Come  along  to  Eow  Street  —  come 

before  Sir  Rich O,  plague  take  it  !    one  might  as  well  call  a 

coach  as  get  a  constable  in  such  an  outlandish  place  as  this. 

O'Gig.  A  constable  is  it!  you  shall  have  a  brace  in  a  jiffy. 
(^Calling.)     Here,  Mouser  and  Tip. 

Reenter  Mouser  and  Tir,  e,.  3  e,,  running. 

Saw.     That's  right  —  that's  him  —  take  him  into  custody  at  once. 

Pen.  Seize  that  fellow  —  seize  him  ;  I  charge  him  with  robbing 
me  of  five  guineas,  and  that  gentleman  of  forty  pounds. 

Saw.  Did  any  body  ever  hear  the  loike  o'  that  ?  He  charges 
you  with  robbing  him  of  forty  pound,  and  all  the  time  he  has  got 
the  money  in  his  own  pocket. 

Pen.  Officers,  do  your  duty :  his  pockets  are  full  of  lumps  of 
brass,  that  he  passes  off  for  ingots  of  pure  gold. 

Saio.  Well,  I  never  —  now,  did  you  ever  —  but  no  matter,  here's 
a  friend  will  stand  by  me.  (Lays  his  hand  on  O' Gig's  shoulder,  who 
ahakes  him  off  jm  amazement.) 


30  XHE  robber's  wife. 

O'Glg.     I  stand  by  you,  you  little  murdermg  Turk ! 

Moa.  (r.)  Pray,  sir,  which  is  the  culprit  ? 

O'Gij.  (li.  c.)  I'm  in  a  quandary !  This  hop-o'-my-thumb  chap 
sartinly  did  the  job. 

Haw.  (L.  c.)  Well,  I  don't  deny  it. 

Muu.  {Crossiiif/  to  Sawxey.)  That's  enough. 

Pen.  (l.)  He  confesses  —  he  confesses. 

Sato.  Ees,  but  'twas  you  made  me,  you  know.  Now,  gentlemen, 
only  you  hear  the  simple  truth :  this  old  fellow,  you  see,  is  a  deep 
one,  and  makes  a  trade  on't ;  and  for  fear  o'  getting  his  own  neck 
into  trouble,  picks  up  any  simple  lad  that  knows  no  better,  to  tell  a 
parcel  o'  lies  about  minerals  and  metals,  and  the  loike.  I  say,  do 
you  know  he  only  gi'  me  half  a  crown  for  that  job  o'  youm  ? 

O'  Gig.     Och,  tie  !  tie  !  the  dirty  shab'rag  ! 

Pen.  The  greatest  lie  that  ever  was  told.  Curse  me,  if  this 
doesn't  beat  the  old  Bailey  —  I'm  astonished. 

O'Gig.     So's  myself;  I'm  bothered  intirely. 

Saio.  'Stonished,  indeed  !  you  ought  to  be  ashamed :  going 
about  wi'  gilded  lumps  o'  brass,  and  wheedling  poor  lads  to  deceive 
gentlefolks.  I've  nought  but  a  good  character  to  depend  upon. 
Why,  you've  got  one  on  'em  in  your  pocket  now  —  you  know  you 
have. 

Pen.     Eh  !  what,  me  ! 

Saw.    Ees,  you  —  an'  you  can't  deny  it,  wi'out  telling  a  whopper. 

Pen.     Villain  !  scoundrel !     {Making  at  Sawxev.) 

Saw.  (^Crosses  to  s..)  Hold  him,  hold  him  —  he'll  do  me  a  mis- 
chief else. 

O'  Gig.  {Interfering.)  Wait  a  while  —  wait,  now,  and  I'll  settle  it 
nate  and  aisy.  Fair  play's  a  jewel  all  over  the  world  —  so  if  we 
sarch  the  both  of  'em,  from  their  tops  to  their  —  I  mane  from  their 
heads  to  their  futs,  we'll  do  the  thing  quite  genteelly.  {The  officers 
instantly  commence  a  search  of  the  2}arties,  whom  they  hold  asu7uler , 
the  brass  ingot  and  pocket-book  are  found  on  Pexfuddle.) 

Mou.  The  lad's  right,  sure  enough  :  the  article  named  is  found 
upon  the  prisoner. 

Pen.      ^  ^Prisoner!  what  d'ye  mean? 

O'  Gig.  \  {All  together.)  ^  Och,  the  raff ! 

Saw.      )  (  Didn't  I  say  so  ? 

Pen.     You  are  all  in  error  —  that  pocket-book  contains  — . — - 

Mou.   {Having  opened  it.)  Just  forty  pounds  ! 

O'  Gig.     That's  it  —  hand  over  the  stuff. 

Man.     Beg  pardon,  sir  ;  but  this  money  must  be  paid  into  court. 
{Goes  up.) 

O'  Gig.     Into  court  ! 

Saw.  Ees,  they  always  pays  it  into  court.  {Aside.)  But  it 
must  pay  toll  first. 

Pen.  Very  well,  gentlemen  ;  if  you  won't  take  warning,  you 
must  take  the  consequence.  This  is  false  imprisonment  —  I  know 
the  law,  sir  —  this  is  battery  — I'm  a  member  of  the  profession,  sir, 
and  when  I  tell  you  my  name,  sir 

O'  Gig,    Out  with  it.     Money  or  revenge  I  am  determined  to 


THE    IlOBBEn's    WIFK.  21 

have  ;  and  it  Avill  be  a  mighty  additional  satisfaction  to  know  who 
I  have  the  pleasure  oi'  thumping.  Now,  my  line  fellow,  your  name, 
you  say,  is 

Fen.  No,  sir  —  upon  second  thoughts,  I'll  wait  a  more  favorable 
opportunity. 

O'  Gig.     And  you  won't  tell  your  name  ? 

Mou.  {Examining  the  pocket-book.')  Peter  Penfuddle,  attorney  at 
law. 

O'Gig.     Och!  beautiful!  beautiful!     (Grasping  his  bludgeon.) 

Pen.  Officers,  do  your  duty  —  I  insist  on  being  taken  into  cus- 
tody ;  my  life's  in  danger. 

[Exeunt  Mouser   and  Tip,  hurrying  off  Penfuddle,    l.,   as 
0'(jiG  prepares  his  shileleh. 

O'Gig.  Now,  then,  I  shall  kill  one  bird  with  two  stones  —  pah  ! 
I  mane,  two  stones  wid  one  bird  —  that's  it.     Eh  !    gone !    and 

Where's   that  little {Sees  8awney  climbing  the  crags,  L.  3  e.) 

Aha  !  I  see  you,  my  boy,  hopping  like  a  squirrel  among  the  crags; 
but  I've  not  done  wid  you  yet.  Unless  I  have  him  for  king's  evi- 
dence, Pll  be  ruined,  rump  and  stump  ! 

[Exit,  climbing  the  crag  after  Sawney,  l.  3  e. 

ScEXE  II.  —  Exterior  of  the  Inn  ;  the  setting  sun  reflected  upon  it. 
Enter  Mark  Redland,  e.  1  e. 

Mark.  {Looking  through  the  window,  L.  p.,  a7id  calling  in  a  subdued 
voice.)  Rose  !  Hose,  I  say ! 

Jlose.  {Appearing  at  the  door,  L.  F.)  Hush  !  not  so  loud  —  you 
must  not  call  me  ilose  now. 

Enter  Rose,  and  advances,  D.  r. 

Mark,    (r.)  Not  call  you  Rose  ? 

Rose.  (li.)  No:  the  gentleman  here,  the  traveller,  lost  an  only 
child  of  that  name  formerly,  and  he  cannot  bear  to  hear  it. 

Mark.  So  you  have  been  gossiping  —  no  matter ;  he'll  soon  be  out 
of  the  way. 

Rose.     Out  of  the  way  ! 

Mark.     Ay  :  is  Mactile  ready  ? 

Rose.     Macfile  ?     He  is  not  here. 

Mark.     Not !  then  I  must  do  it  myself. 

Rose.     Do  what  ? 

Mark.     Attend  this  traveller,  to  be  sure  —  guide  him  on  his  road. 

Rose.  You,  you  guide  him  ?  {Apart.)  If  they  should  know 
each  other,  there  will  be  death  between  them. 

Mark.  Rose,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  I  must  obtain  means  to  fly 
the  country.  The  Irishman  that  Sawney  fooled  has  dogged  u»  to 
the  vei-y  threshold  of  our  den.     Is  the  old  man  ready  to  go  ? 

Rose.  {Thinking.)  He  shall  not  leave  the  house. 

Mark.     What's  that  ? 

Rose.     I  said  he  could  not  leave  the  house. 

Mark.     Why,  he  was  mad  to  set  forward. 

Bom.     Not  now  ;  his  strength  and  spirits  are  r  ichauDted  ->  he  is 


22  THE    IIOBBKU'S    WIFE. 

reposing  on  our  bed,  waiting  the  return  of  his  companion,  O 
Mark  !  he  is  an  old  man,  and  a  sorrowful  man  —  we  talked  togeth- 
er of  such  miseries,  that  even  you  might  have  pitied  him  —  let  him, 
then,  remain  here  in  peace,  or  depart  unmolested. 

Mark.     What  preaching  is  this  ?  are  you  mad  ? 

Rose.  O,  no,  not  mad.  only  wise  too  late  :  one  word  suiHces  — 
I  will  share  in  no  more  crime,  no  more  blood, 

Mark.  Hell  and  furies  !  (^Looking  round.)  Think  if  these  rav- 
ings should  be  heard. 

Rose.  I  care  not ;  better  die  than  live  thus  :  if  you  lay  a  finger 
on  a  hair  of  that  man's  head  —  if  you  give  him  one  evil  eye,  or  one 
ruffian  thought,  it  were  better  for  you  that  your  nurse  had  strangled 
you  in  her  lap. 

Mark.     AVhy,  Rose  ? 

Rose.  Stand  off !  I  am  driven  to  desperation,  and  I  will  speak 
—  observe  my  words,  and  fear  them  —  fear  for  your  soul,  or  if  that 
will  not  startle  you,  fear  for  your  forfeit  life.  Should  that  man's 
way  be  troubled  —  ay,  if  only  by  a  pebble  cast  at  his  feet  by  your 
hand,  you  shall  die  the  death  of  a  dog.     {Crosses,  s..) 

Mark.     Is  she  crazed,  or  —  tell  me  who  is  this  man  ? 

Rose,  (r.)  In  my  childhood  he  was  one  of  my  best  and  kindest 
friends,  but  he  does  not  remember  me.    Ah  !  I  have  no  friends  now  ! 

Mark,  (l.)  But  you  had  friends  that  were  worse  than  enemies  of 
mine  —  why  should  I  spare  those  who  have  driven  me  to  perdition  ? 
who  was  it  that,  for  a  paltry  theft,  exposed,  where  he  might  have 
screened  and  saved  me  ?  —  your  own  father. 

Rose.  My  —  my  father  !  {Recorering  with  effoH  the  sudden  men- 
tion of  his  name.)  He  was  not  to  blame  —  you  know  he  was  not  — 
he  screened  you  long  and  often,  till  he  discovered  that  I  was  more 
blind  to  your  faults  than  he  was. 

Mark.  Yes,  he  threw  temptation  in  my  way,  and  when  I  fell  be- 
fore it,  drove  me,  without  character  and  without  a  friend,  to  seek 
BUbsistence  by  the  very  crime  for  which  he  had  denounced  me.  I 
was  degraded  past  hope,  leagued  with  men  more  desperate  than 
myself — was  discovered,  convicted,  sentenced  —  by  the  blood  that 
now  boils  within  me,  if  he  were  alive  again,  I'd  dare  a  thousand 
deaths  to  gratify  one  moment  of  revenge.     {Crosses,  R.) 

Rose.  (L.)  Ah,  do  not,  do  not  speak  thus,  and  I  will  be  patient, 
oDedient  —  hist  !  some  one  approaches  ! 

Mark.  {Looki?ig  off,  n.)  Rody  ! 

Rose.     That  wretch  ! 

Mark.  In,  into  the  house  —  quick !  keep  watch  and  restrain 
your  tongue,  or  it  may  be  the  worse  for  both  of  us. 

[Exit  into  the  house,  D.  p. 

Enter  Rody.      The  sun's  rays  having  subsided  into  twilight,  it  becoinet 
darker. 

Mark.  Well. 

Rody.  You  must  strike  now,  or  all's  over. 

Mark.  Macfile  is  caught,  then  ?     Will  he  betray  us  ? 

Rody,  There's  no  knowing  that ;  'twas  the  Irishman  that  pinned 


THK  kobber's  wife.  23 

Mm.  I  suspect  the  others  are  spies,  for  the  lawyer  is  gone  off  with 
the  rest,  in  high  words  about  robbery,  and  imprisonment,  and  jus- 
tice, and  so  forth. 

Mark.  Spies  !  it  is,  it  must  be  so.  His  caution  about  the  pistols, 
and  his  care  of  the  wallet,  confirm  it.  My  wife,  too,  knows  him, 
and  has  perhaps  discovered —  Rody,  come  hither.  {He  whispers  — 
HoDT  tiods  —  lloSE  opens  the  toindoiu  in  the  flat,  listening.^ 

Body.     Right,  right !     That's  the  sure  way.     {Grasping  his  Jinife.") 

Mark.  Let  all  be  ready  —  leave  the  loft  open,  and  unbar  the  door 
leading  to  the  bed  room.  If  we  get  it  quickly,  well  and  good  ;  if 
not 

Rf)dy.     'Tis  done.     In  ten  minutes  I'll  be  ready.     {Music.') 

Exeunt  Rody,  k.,  jSIark,  l.  Mark  makes  a  sign  of  silence. 
As  they  go  off,  Rose  looks  cautiously  after  them  from  the 
window,  then  closes  it  suddenly,  and  disappears. 

Scene  III.  —  The  Interior  of  the  Inn,  as  seen  before.     Stage  dark. 
Rose  discovered. 

Rose.  In  ten  minutes  they  will  be  ready  —  ready !  For  what  ? 
Murder  !  It  is  too  certain.  O,  miserable  dupe  !  I  gave  up  peace  of 
mind,  content,  comfort,  all,  to  be  a  robber's  wife,  and  now  my  hour 
of  agony  is  come.  Which  must  I  give  up,  husband  or  father  ?  My 
heart  clings  to  both ;  yet,  if  I  can  save  one,  the  other  surely  dies. 
Let  me  think.  My  only  hope  is  to  keep  them  from  the  loiowledge 
of  each  other.  Had  I  but  some  help,  some  kind  adviser  —  but  I 
have  none  —  none  !  not  even  an  associate  of  mj'  own  sex  ;  all  have 
left  me,  to  mourn,  in  loneliness  and  sorrow,  my  wretched,  wretched 
lot.     {Crosses  to  n.) 

Enter  Bkiaelt,  yi'ow  the  bed  room,  R.  d.  f.,  with  his  portmanteau  and 
pistols,  xchich  he  puts  on  the  table,  R.  C. 

Bri.     Holloa  !  why,  the  room's  as  dark  as  a  coal-hole.     I  must 
have  been  asleep  these  two  hours.     Why  didn't  you  Avake  me  ? 
.    Rose.  (R.)     I  have  waked  you  too  often  already. 

Bri.  (l.)  That's  true  enough ;  but  what's  become  of  old  Pen- 
fuddle  ? 

Rose.  I  know  not  —  care  not ;  you  had  better  think  of  yourself 
now.  {Apart.)  There  is  one  chance  yet,  if  avarice  has  not  increased 
with  age.  Like  the  hunted  beaver,  he  may  leave  the  prize  they  toil 
for,  and  escape. 

Bri.  (l.)  O,  if  you  are  going  to  have  another  fit  of  the  miser- 
ables,  I'm  off;  you  have  given  me  one  dose,  and  I'll  not  swallow 
another. 

Rose.  You  will  hear  nothing  more  of  your  daughter,  sir,  from 
me.     Something  of  yourself  you  must  hear. 

Bri.     What  is  it  ? 

Rose.  First  answer  me  ;  does  that  package  contain  money  or 
Tftluables  ? 

Bri.     A  very  odd  question. 

Rose.     Answer  it  correctly,  and  instantly  ;  what  does  it  contain  ? 


S4  THE    robber's   wife. 

Bri.  Why,  clothes,  chiefly ;  a  few  pounds  for  travelling  ex- 
penses, and  a  bundle  of  parchments  and  papers,  of  no  use  to  any  but 
the  OAvner. 

Rose.  Then  leave  it  where  it  is,  and  retire  again  to  your  apart- 
ment ;  better  lose  that  than  your  life. 

Bri.     My  life ! 

Hose.     Ay  !  the  road  is  infested  with  bloodhounds. 

Bri.  Never  mind,  I  am  well  armed.  If  the  bloodhounds  bark, 
I  can  bite.     (  Going  up  to  the  table,  and  taking  the  pistols.) 

Rose.  I  tell  3-0U,  your  life's  in  danger.  Look  to  your  pistols  — 
the  charge  is  drawn. 

Bri.  (^Examining  them.)  Ha!  the  charges  drawn !  {^Comes  down, 
and  crosses  to  R.)     Am  I  beset  ? 

Rose.  You  are,  on  every  side ;  and  yet  this  house  may  be  safer 
than  the  road.  If  yoii  leave  it  now,  it  will  excite  suspicion,  and 
increase  your  peril.  I  will  procure  you  balls  and  powder.  This 
disclosure  may  cost  me  my  life,  but  I  care  not  for  that ;  all  I  entreat 
is,  that  you  ■will  not  fire  but  in  extreme  necessity.  Give  me  your 
promise ;  I  have  especial  reasons  for  asking  it. 

Bri.     I  guess  them.     You  would  save  your  husband. 

Rose.     O  !     (^Tarns  suddenly  from  him,  covering  herfaoe.) 

Bri.  Be  comforted.  Unless  I  am  compelled  in  self-defence,  he 
shall  receive  no  injury  from  me.     I  pity  you  from  my  heart. 

Rose.     O,  bless  —  bless  you  for  that  one  word. 

Bri.  (R.)     Do  not  relapse  —  this  is  no  time  for  wailing. 

Rose.  (L.)  O,  no,  no!  these  are  the  first  heart-easing  tears  I 
have  shed  for  many  a  long  year.  (^Noise  of  footsteps  without,  l.) 
Ha,  I  hear  them  !  hark,  they  are  at  the  door  !  aAvay,  away  !  (Bri- 
AKLY  runs  to  his  chamber,  R.  D.  F.)  Ha  !  he  has  left  his  pistols  !  'tis 
too  late !  {She  attempts  to  taJce  them  from  the  table,  but  Mark,  and 
RoDY,  with  a  dark  lantern,  enter  at  the  itistant,  L.  D.  p.,  atid  she 
throios  herself  into  the  chair,  'R.,  feigning  sleep.) 

Mark.     Nothing  stirs. 

Rody.     Has  he  given  us  the  slip  ? 

Ma7-k.  Hush!  the  light.  (Taking  it  from  "Ron^.)  All's -well  — 
thei'e  lie  his  pistols — and  see,  the  wallet. 

Rody.  Our  work  is  done,  then.  {^Going  towards  it.)  Let  us  be 
off  with  it  at  once. 

Mark.  Not  so ;  he  might  discover  his  loss  too  soon.  Pick  the 
lock,  take  only  what  we  look  for,  and  leave  the  rest  precisely  as  we 
found  it. 

Rody.     Pick  the  lock  —  where  are  the  wires  ? 

Mark.  On  the  shelf  there  behind  the  clock.  {Turning,  fte  sees 
Rose.)  My  wife !  (Music.  Rody,  who  has  taken  the  poi-tmanteau 
from  the  stool,  which  stands  in  front  of  the  table,  and  placed  it  on  the 
floor,  R.  c,  stai'ts  at  the  exclamation,  and  watches  while  Mark  passes 
the  light  over  lier  face.) 

Mark.  She  sleeps.  (Stooping  toioards  her.)  Her  pulse  is  deep 
and  regular.  If  I  was  certain  —  no,  I  will  not  trust  her.  Hist  I 
hist !  Rose,  awake. 

Rose.    What's  that?    Who  calls?    Mark,  is  it  you ) 


THE   ROBBEK'S    WITE.  M 

3fark.    Is  this  the  way  you  keep  watch  ? 

Jiose.  (Rises.)  I  could  not  help  it;  lam  ■weak  and  ill  —  but  I 
have  done  as  you  desired  —  the  pistols  are  harmless.  (Maek  hofc3 
at  RoDY,  who  examines  them  and  nods.) 

Rody.     All's  right. 

Rose.  I  forgot  to  place  them  by  his  side  again,  but  I'll  do  that 
directly.     (Crosses  to  the  table,  and  takes  them  tip  eagerly.) 

Mark.  No,  let  them  remain  ;  he  wouldn't  travel  -without  more 
ammunition  —  they  will  be  safer  where  they  are.  (Rose  lays  them 
down  in  disappointment.)    Now,  then,  leave  xis. 

Rose.    Leave  3'ou  ? 

Mark.     Ay,  till  I  call.     Wait  yonder.     (Points  to  th^  door,  L.  p.) 

Rose.  I  must  obey  him,  (Music.  She  retires  with  hesitation  — 
turns,  ajid  clasps  her  hands  in  supplication  to  Mark,  who  waves  his 
arm  impatiently  —  the  instant  his  face  is  averted,  she  darts  behind  the 
window  cxij-tain,  L.  C.  F.) 

Mark.     You  had  better  make  all  fast. 

Rody.  I  will.  I'll  secure  the  door,  that  she  may  not  return. 
(Micsic  pizs.  He  goes  to  it,  bolts  it,  and  passing  the  window  to  the  door 
of  Briarly's  chamber,  stops  and  listens.)  Now,  then,  the  picklocks ; 
1  can't  manage  it  -with  this.  (Sticking  the  knife  into  his  belt,  with 
which  he  had  been  trying  to  open  the  portmanteau.  Mark  takes  a 
bunch  of  wires  from  the  shelf,  and  brings  them.)  Stop ;  there  may  be 
somebody  looking  at  us  through  that  window,  though  we  cannot 
see  them. 

Mark.  I'll  draw  that  window  curtain.  (Music  pizz.  Mark 
goes  rowid  the  table  —  Rose  at  this  moment  glides  away  from  the  cur- 
tain to  th^  back  of  the  arm  chair,  and  hides  by  help  of  the  cloak. 
Mark  draws  the  curtain  and  returns.  During  this  movement  Rody 
places  the  lantern  on  the  stool,  chooses  a  wire  from  the  bunch,  while 
Mark  lays  his  oton  pistols  gently  07i  the  table,  opposite  those  of  Bri- 
ARLY.  Briarly,  %cho  has  been  upon  the  watch  from  his  chamber  door, 
advances  behind  Mark,  and  is  now  on  that  side  of  the  table  on  which 
he  laid  his  own  pistols,  and  is  on  the  point  of  taking  them,  when  Rose 
gives  a  sign,  and  gently  turns  the  table  round  upon  its  centre,  which 
exactly  reverses  their  situation.  Briarly  immediately  secures  the 
loaded  pistols  belonging  to  ^Ix'R'S..  At  this  moment  the  wallet  or  port' 
manteaxi  is  opened  by  Rody  ;  a  jnirse  is  found,  and  a  packet  of  papers 
falls  out.) 

Body.     There's  a  purse  —  nothing  more  in  our  way. 

Mark.    What's  that  ? 

Rody.     A  parcel  of  letters, 

Mark.  Ha !  letters !  then  I  shall  know  to  whom  it  belongs.  I 
shall  discover  the  name  of  this  dear  friend,  whom  my  wife  is  so  anx- 
ious to  protect.  (Rose  is  horror-struck,  and  gasps  loith  agitation,  as 
Mark  examines  the  letters.)  Impossible  !  (Starting  as  he  reads.) 
And  yet  the  date  is  recent.     He  lives  !  he  is  in  my  grasp. 

Rody.     What,  Briarly  ? 

Mark.  (Crossing,    R.)     Ay,    her  own  father.     (Rose  shrieks  — 
Mark  grasps  his  pistols  —  Briarly  recoils  in  astonishment  —  KoOT 
rushes  into  the  chamber,  L.  D.  r.) 
S 


ZB  THE    KOBBER  S    'WIFE. 

B>i.  Father  !  father,  did  he  say ?  Is  she  then  my  daughter ^ 
my  child  —  my  poor  lost  Rose  ? 

Mark.  Let  this  be  my  answer.  (He  levels  a  pistol  —  it  snaps.) 
Curse  on  her  subtlety !  she  has  disarmed  me !  but  think  not  to 
escape. 

Bri.  (l.)     Mark  Redland,  your  career  of  infamy  is  closed. 

Rose.  O,  don't  fire  !  in  mercy,  do  not  fire.  Pather  !  husband ! 
Fly  —  fly  —  escape  !  O,  do  not  destroy  each  other  in  my  very  sight ! 
Is  there  no  help  ?  (^Music.  She  dashes  back  the  window  curtain,  to 
call  for  help.) 

ReSnter  Kody,  with  the  gang,  L.  D.  f.     Rose,  seeing  them,  throws 
herself  before  her  father. 

Rose.     Ah ! 

Mark.     Rose,  if  you  value  life,  stand  aside. 

Rose.  I  do  not  value  it  —  I  -vnIII  not  stir.  (Briarly  levels.) 
One  moment  —  only  one 

Bri.  (L.  c.)  Fly,  with  your  guilty  companions ;  if  you  persist, 
you  rush  upon  your  fate. 

Mark.     Upon  'em  —  quick  !     ^A  general  movement.) 

Rose.   (^Calling.)     Help,  help  !  must  I  call  in  vain  ? 

Enter  O'GiG  at  the  window,  c.  p. 

O'  Gig.  Not  when  an  Irishman  is  within  hearing,  and  a  petticoat 
wants  assistance.  (^Jumps  forward,  c.)  Now,  then,  you  black  muz- 
zled thieves,  I'm  at  your  sarvice. 

Bri.  (Crossing  to  O'GiG.)  Nay,  then,  there  is  hope  yet.  Take 
one  of  these.     (  Offe^-ing  a  pistol.) 

O'  Gig.  Not  I !  (Holding  up  his  shileleh.)  This  is  the  blunder- 
bush  that  never  missed  fire  when  Larry  O'Gig  pulled  the  trigger 
of  it.  Run,  now,  my  darling,  run  wid  the  speed  o'  light,  and  tell 
ould  Penfuddle  and  the  rest,  that  I  have  taken  all  these  fellows 
prisoners  in  a  bunch. 

Mark.  (E.)     Prisoners  !  what  does  the  blundering  idiot  mean  ? 

O'Gig.  What  do  I  mane?  That  with  an  ould  acquaintance 
here,  that  I  never  saw  before,  on  one  side  o'  me,  and  his  poor,  dis- 
tressed daughter  on  the  other,  one  honest  man  is  a  match  for  five 
big  blackguards,  like  you,  any  night  o'  the  sason.  (Turning  to 
Rose.)  Off  wid  you,  now,  wid  the  speed  o'  light,  and  prevent  mis- 
chief; there's  help  at  hand  ! 

Rose.     Is  there  —  is  there,  indeed,  help  ?     (She  rushes  out,  L.  D.  p.) 

Mark.  (To  the  gang.)     Follow  her  instantly  ! 

O'Gig.  (Floivishing  his  shileleh.)     Not  a  step,  my  jewel. 

Mark.  By  the  bed  room — by  the  loft.  (Music.  The  gang  are 
on  the  point  of  rushing  up  the  stairs,  when  Sawney  appears  in  the 
gallery  passage,  followed  bij  soldiers,  with  lights ;  others  enter  at  the 
door,  L.,  in  flat.     Penfuddle  looks  through  the  window,  c.  p.) 

Pen.  Have  you  got  him  ?  Is  he  safe  ?  O  dear  !  (Seeing  them, 
he  starts  away.) 

Mark.  (Aside.)     Your  knife,  Rody  —  your  knife.    (^oViY  gives  it.) 

O'Gig.     Now,  then,  my  fine  felloe's,  you  may  ghut  up  ehop  ; 


r 


THE  robber's  -wife.  27 

there  is  an  end  of  the  firm  of  Mark  Redland  and  Company  —  alias, 
Murdock  the  Robber. 

Enter  Mouser,  Tip,  &c.,  l.  d.  f. 

Ma7-k.  Is  it  so  ?  Thus,  then,  I  free  myself !  (^He  makes  a  spring, 
and  dashes  thrMigh  one  of  the  glazed  compartments  of  the  window, 
O'Gio  striking  the  knife  from  his  hand, 

O'  Gig.  By  the  powers,  I  never  saw  the  like  o'  that !  Here  goes  ! 
(^Leaps  after  him.) 

Bri.  Villain  !  he  will  escape  yet.  (A  shot  heard  without,  i<.) 
No,  they  have  him  !  Hark  !  listen !  (Another  shot,  l.,  followed  by 
a  scream.  Briarlt  staggers.)  My  daughter  — my  child  —  she  has 
received  the  shot  —  it  must  be  so.  O,  I  wish  I  had  forgiven  her ! 
If  I  had  but  forgiven  her 

0'GrT(}  returns,  bearing  Hose  in  his  arms. 

0'  Gig.    Thpre  she  is  —  there  she  is  —  all  safe  and  sound  —  hoc  I 

Hose,     Fathrtt 

Bri.     Rose  !       ><Utrting,  and  throwing  open  his  arms.) 

Rose.     O  my  lear  father  !     (^She  falls  into  his  embrace.     Music) 

Redland  returns  d.  r.  i,.,  and  falls  in  c.     Curtain  fall*. 


Disposition  of  the  Characters  at  the  Fall  of  the  Curtain. 
lioirsER.    Tip.    O'Gig.    Mark,  dead.    Ross.    Briarlt.    Soldien 


nr^ 


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